Resolution
by tlyxor1
Summary: One does not walk from a near death experience unchanged. It's no wonder, then, when after two action packed years, it's a very different Harry Potter who arrives for his third year at Hogwarts School. new classes, new friends and a very new outlook on life, the Boy Who Lived was always meant for greatness. PoA AU. OOC. Rewrite in progress.
1. Chapter 1: The Ugly Wench

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** One does not walk from a near death experience unchanged. It's no wonder, then, when after two action packed years, it's a very different Harry Potter who arrives for his third year at Hogwarts School. new classes, new friends and a very new outlook on life, the Boy Who Lived was always meant for greatness. PoA AU. OOC.

**Rating:** T for mild language and violence, and eventual adult themes.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Resolution**

**Chapter One: The Ugly Wench**

**August 17th - 18th, **_**1993**_

It was with a sigh of almost-relief that Harry Potter walked out of number 4, Privet Drive, determined not to look upon his relatives' ugly mugs ever again. He'd never gotten along with them, and although the onus of their poor relationship could be laid at the feet of Petunia and Vernon, a part of Harry wondered if there was anything he could have done to make things better.

He squashed that part of himself without remorse.

Much like the year prior, it had been hard to return at the end of the school year. With the knowledge that he would have nothing but two months of chores, isolation, and his relatives' abject hatred for company, why would he have _wanted_ to?

Normally, Harry could suck it up and deal, but with his friends out of reach, and his nights haunted by the Chamber of Secrets, Marge Dursley's presence was the straw that had broken the camel's back.

There was only so much degradation a bloke could take, after all. Thus, Harry had made the executive decision to leave Privet Drive. He did so without regrets.

In his wake, he left an _inflated_ Marge and the house's three permanent residents in a panic, but as he trekked down the street, with his faithful trunk (an heirloom) trotting along beside him, Harry couldn't find it in him to care. The woman had brought it on herself, and if it taught her some respect for the dead, than all the better.

Maybe Petunia, Vernon or Dudley could learn something, too, but Harry wasn't holding his breath. They were loathsome, distasteful individuals, and Harry had frequently wondered how in Godric's name he could ever be related to them, but he supposed one couldn't choose their family.

.

All the same, he had far greater concerns than the chaos he'd left behind, and the perpetual question of his relation to the odious Dursleys, and so Harry settled himself at the bus stop on Magnolia Crescent, carted a hand through sable coloured hair and thought over his options.

Suffice to say, they were fairly bleak at this time of night. He'd just been kicked out of Privet Drive, and he'd left without looking back, but that particular decision left some gaping issues that needed to be addressed immediately, chief among them the issue of where he would stay until September.

It was a midsummer night, the air was warm, and the streets were quiet. Nothing ever happened at Privet Drive, excepting Dudley and his idiot gang, so Harry had no particular qualms about relaxing as best as possible on the uncomfortable bench, with only a flickering lamppost and a bedraggled, miserable looking stray for company.

It seemed oddly fitting that he would end up in the presence of a creature that, like Harry himself, had nowhere to go. He wondered idly if the dog had once had a home, a family that had loved him, or if he, too, had run away from people who hadn't wanted him, but he pulled himself back to the matter at hand, stopped searching for symbolism where there wasn't any, and began to brainstorm instead.

As Harry contemplated his next course of action, however, and the stray dog watched him from across the street, a conversation he'd heard the year before between Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, two boys in his dorm, came to mind, of a form of magical transport that required only a wand and some sickles to utilise. Harry, fortunately, was resourceful enough to always carry a small supply of muggle and magical cash and coin on him no matter the occasion, so without ado, he got to his feet, withdrew his wand and summoned the Knight Bus to his current location with a pleased, fleeting grin.

The Knight Bus appeared with a thunderous crack akin to the sound of a car backfiring, an obnoxiously purple, triple-decker monstrosity that Harry could only stare at in shock, awe and a little bit of horror. He was, however, interrupted in his gawking by the presence of the bus conductor, a pimply faced boy just barely out of his teens, dressed in a purple velvet suit that looked like it had just stepped out of the seventies, flared trousers, platform shoes, rhinestones and all. His eyes reminded Harry of a raccoon's, his skin was sallow and it looked as though the bloke hadn't seen the sun in years, but he withdrew some palm cards from an inner pocket and began to recite a greeting, entirely monotone for all the lack of enthusiasm put into the task.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. my name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

"Hullo," Harry greeted, "I have to get to Diagon Alley, but I don't want to go through the Leaky Cauldron. Do you have any solutions?"

Harry had established it was his best bet at staying under the radar. Adults in the muggle world would question the presence of a minor without any guardians, but as Harry had observed in his two years exposed to the place, children in the magical world were treated something like those in the muggle industrial era, workplace issues and all. If he managed to successfully pull off the ruse of a nameless, faceless orphan until September,than all the better for him. Unfortunately, Tom, the innkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron knew his face, so taking that entry was simply out of the question. It was entirely predictable as well, and no way did Harry want to deal with any questionably-intended adults tonight - or ever, come to think of it.

"Alrigh," Stan agreed, "It'll be 'leven sickles though, thirteen if you want a toothbrush an' a 'ot chocolate."

Harry forked over eleven sickles, stepped onto the bus and ensured his enchanted trunk followed him on, with only a glimpse behind him at the dog that had disappeared out of sight. He settled onto the bed offered to him, took hold of the bedpost and wasn't particularly surprised when the health and safety hazard took off with a wrench of dislocated air and an accompanying, preposterously loud, '_boom_'. He muttered an inaudible oath under his breath, clutched onto the bedpost for dear life and thanked all the Gods he knew and didn't believe in when he arrived at his destination alive and in one piece.

"That was a bloody nightmare," harry muttered to himself, when the Knight Bus was well and truly out of sight, but didn't dwell on the experience. instead, he entered the seedy looking pub the bus had deposited him in front of - The Ugly Wench - and approached the bartender whom, impossibly, looked even older, and even more cantankerous, than Tom. Harry's trunk trailed along behind him, but as the boy wizard came to a stop by the grubby looking bar, he focused his attention on the grizzled old wizard behind it.

"Excuse me, sir, I was hoping to rent a room until September. Do you have any available?"

The wizard scrutinised Harry for a moment, nodded with a grunt and opened up the booking ledger. He penned Harry's details without question, false name and all, handed over a heavy brass key and directed the teen to a stairway in the back of the pub. Harry nodded his thanks, headed upstairs and was not surprised to find that the upper part of the inn was as grimy as the bar and common area. After two years of exposure to the magical world, it was almost expected by that point, but as Harry reached his room, stepped inside and looked around, he couldn't bring himself to care. It was as unlike Privet Drive as humanly possible, and for that, Harry was almost of the opinion that it was the best thing since sliced bread.

Harry's temporary room was comfortably sized, with a twin sized four poster, aged mahogany furnishings and an attached bathroom. It had a view over Leicester Square, but Harry didn't have much of a fascination for London's city lights, and so he readied himself for bed, clambered beneath the bedcovers and threw an arm over his eyes with a weary groan. He'd plan out everything in the morning, but for the moment, harry was tired, it had been a long day and he was ready for some well-deserved rest that he'd, typically, not received at _home_.

Harry gave a derisive scoff at the thought that he would _ever_ consider Privet Drive home, rolled over in his bed and not for the first time, thought over everything he knew about his own history. it was a pitiful amount, but it was something, and it _would_ become more - Harry would make sure of it.

Fact One: He was a wizard, with parents who were a wizard and a witch respectively. His paternal grandparents had been too and presumably, their parents had been as well, so on and so on. His maternal grandparents had been muggles and aside from his mother, all of his relations on his mother's side were similarly non-magical, thus making Harry himself a 'halfblood'.

Fact Two: His parents had left him a trust fund. Since it was _only_ a trust fund, Harry could assume that there was more of an inheritance awaiting him for when he came of age or some such, but he would have to make contact with the goblins at Gringott's to really be certain about that.

Fact Three: They'd been targeted by Voldemort in 1981, had been betrayed and consequently murdered, which somehow resulted in Voldemort's destruction and Harry's survival. Harry didn't know _why_ they had been targeted, but he was aware that his parents had been aware of it, given the fact that they'd been in hiding since shortly after his birth.

Harry sighed to himself, rolled over in his bed once more and stared up at the velvet canopy overhead. He'd shut his bed hangings earlier, and they successfully muffled the sounds of London's nightlife from down in the street, but lost in his thoughts, Harry hardly noticed. He thought about his parents, whom he'd only had fifteen measly months with, thought about what they'd been like as individuals and as a pair, and longed for a life in which Voldemort had never come to his home that Halloween night.

Harry closed his eyes with a huff of silent, bitter laughter, and quietly murmured, "Can anybody find me… somebody to love?"

Then he shook himself, thought about his coming year at Hogwarts and fell asleep, certain to put his orphan-esque angst behind him. His parents were dead, he'd never be able to change that, and there was no use crying over spilt milk. And so Harry dreamt of a normal school year, and when he woke, he silently prayed that such a dream could come to pass. With his luck, however, or alleged lack thereof, it wasn't likely.

Peace, it seemed, was simply a commodity he would never know. He didn't have much of a choice, really, because Voldemort was determined to cling onto whatever dregs of life and power he could maintain. As long as they both still lived, Harry was almost certain that Voldemort would not stop hunting Harry until he was killed, and Voldemort was victorious.

At 12 years old, the revelation had been grounding.

It had come to him at the end of his last school year, while recovering from his near fatal encounter with Slytherin's basilisk and the shade of a young (and relatively sane) Tom Riddle. The experience had hit him harder than the Philosopher's Stone incident of the year prior, but Harry couldn't fathom why. Maybe because he was older, or because he could remember almost dying, or maybe because magic had no longer seemed so fanciful, but either way, Harry had thought he'd never be the same again.

He'd since resolved to be as prepared for his next encounter with Voldemort, but in order for that to be accomplished, Harry had a lot to do and not enough time to do it in. Tom Riddle had an unknown amount of money, servants, 'allies' and magic at his disposal, not to mention over fifty years of experience, and Harry had only two years of magical learning under his belt and the measly promise of a few more. Thus far, his survival had hinged on a great deal of luck, Voldemort's arrogance, and the timely arrival of Dumbledore, or his phoenix, and That needed to change, among other things. .

All he needed was time, and unfortunately, Harry didn't think he had enough to spare.

**Author's Note:** I'm a blind author, so I apologise in advance for any incorrect homophones or Potterisms. Hope you enjoy the rewrite.

ps. In the index, chapters with titles have already been revised.


	2. Chapter 2: The Advantage of Gold

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two: The Advantage of Gold **

_August 18th_

In the morning, Harry meandered his way into the Ugly Wench's common area, settled himself at the bar, and ordered himself a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. The bartender took the order with a scowl and mumbled profanities, disappeared into the kitchen, and didn't return until his breakfast was ready. In his absence, Harry pondered the concept of wizarding hospitality and customer service, came to the conclusion that it was fairly lax, and opted not to dwell on it further.

When the bartender returned with his food in tow, Harry dug in with enthusiasm. It wasn't great, but Harry had learned a long time ago not to complain, and therefore, he ate his meal in silence, read the newspaper as he did so, and tried to work out a way to find out the bartender's name without having to ask.

The front page of the 'Daily Prophet' was devoted to Sirius Black. He was a mass-murderer, among other things, and he'd become the first wizard to ever escape Azkaban Island. It was, evidently, a big deal, but Harry was determined not to get involved. He'd already had enough adventures to last him a lifetime, and moreover, one mass-murdering lunatic out for his blood was enough for him. Therefore, he made a mental note to remain wary, but otherwise, Harry didn't worry about it further.

"Can you tell me how I can get into Diagon Alley, please?"

The cantankerous bartender glared at Harry, scowled, and begrudgingly rattled off a list of instructions that the 13 year old learned quickly. Then he finished the last of his breakfast, retreated to his rented bedroom, and attempted to make himself as presentable as possible.

"Better give up, kid, I don't think anything can fix that bird's nest you've got there."

"No thanks to you, right?""

"Hey, I'm a mirror, what do you expect?"

Harry glared at the opinionated mirror, brushed his teeth, and gathered everything he'd need that day. Then he left the Ugly Wench, made his way through the magical portal behind it, and found himself stood at the corner between Knockturn and Diagon Alley.

The Diagon Alley thoroughfare hadn't changed in the slightest. He wasn't sure why he'd expected it to, because in his experience, the magical world was far too steeped in tradition, in their vaunted history and culture, to even consider the concept.

Knockturn Alley similarly remained unaltered, but this time, Harry's perceptions had changed, and he was left with the burning curiosity of what waited beyond his sight. Maybe it was because he hadn't been caught off guard, or maybe because nothing seemed nearly as terrifying as a giant basilisk, but either way, he wondered, but he would have to wait to find out. He had a plan that took priority over most everything else, and he was determined to see it through.

With that in mind, Harry made his way to Gringott's without delay. It was the first step in his search for answers, and the bubble of anticipation he could feel inside his chest was irrepressible. His whole life, he'd been Harry Potter: orphan, and the opportunity to know where he'd come from? That was priceless.

Gringott's, too, hadn't changed. It was as imposing and ostentatious as ever, crowded with witches and wizards, with hags, and goblins, and any number of magical beings that Harry tried not to stare at. They were interesting though, in that same way other cultures and languages were, and it was fortunate that he reached the front of the queue before he could embarrass himself further.

In his minimal experience at Gringott's, he'd observed that goblins abhorred time wasters, and he therefore opted not to waste time on pleasantries.

"I would like to learn about my accounts, if at all possible," Harry requested, and slid across his vault key, "I know very little regarding the matter, and I would like to change that."

The goblin gave one short nod, barked at one of his fellows in a rough, guttural tongue that Harry couldn't hope to understand, and gestured for the boy to follow the second. Harry obeyed without protest, his vault key a cool comfort against the skin of his palm. Meanwhile, his goblin guide led him through a series of hallways, and came to a stop at a simple, nondescript door.

It went without saying that Harry was well and truly lost.

The goblin knocked once with the pommel of a knife he seemed to procure from nowhere, there came a rumbled reply from within the room, and Harry was none too gently ushered inside. The door was shut with an ominous click behind him, but Harry had already turned his attention to his new surroundings. It was a simple office with simplistic decor, and a white haired goblin was seated behind an ornately carved desk. On the worktop, haphazard piles of parchment, discarded quills and inkwells, a silver bowl full of precious gems and a few loose galleons, sickles and knuts.

"You are Henry Potter III?"

Harry blinked, mildly bemused, but nodded all the same. He rarely ever heard his birth name these days, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that the goblins would use it over the informal 'Harry' the wizarding community favoured.

"I am," he confirmed, "Can I ask who you are, sir?"

"I am Flintlock," he answered, "I manage the Potter finances. What may I do for you today?"

"I wanted to know about my accounts," Harry answered, "I figured that since I only have access to a _trust_ vault, there was more that I didn't know about. It's time I fixed that."

The goblin nodded his acknowledgement, gestured for Harry to take a seat across from him, and proceeded to rifle through a desk drawer full of files. When the goblin withdrew what he was searching for, he cleared his desktop, opened the file, and began to read through its contents.

"Most Potter vaults have been frozen since November 1st, 1981, with the exception of your vault for Investment Dividends and Royalty deposits, the investment vault your father left for you, as well as your trust fund. Do you wish to have your accounts unfrozen once again?"

"That would mean I'd have to manage them, right?"

"Yes."

"In that case, no thank you," Harry answered, "I think I'd like to learn about estate management before I do that. Can I have a list of my assets though?"

Flintlock provided a five sectored booklet bound in maroon leather without a word, and Harry accepted it with a murmured, "Thank you."

"I've also included a file with the details of your active vaults." You may read through it at your own leisure."

Harry deposited both in his knapsack, and queried if Flintlock had anything he wanted to discuss. He declined, and the teen thanked the goblin for his time before he left. Unsurprisingly, another guide waited for him outside the office, and Harry was led back to the lobby in silence. There, he left the bank, returned to the Ugly Wench, and settled himself in a booth near the back. An order of chips and gravy was made, a butter beer was purchased, and while Harry waited, he took the opportunity to study his ledger.

It was bound in maroon leather, with a golden leaf detailing - a coat of arms - on the spine. The pages were divided into sections. Those sections separated his assets into gold, property, artefacts, investments, and miscellaneous goods. The first page of each section was a detailed summary of each, and without truly absorbing any of the information therein, Harry already felt overwhelmed.

What he could gather, however, was that there was a lot.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, unable to comprehend the fact that it was all _his_.

What it meant though, was that he'd not have to pinch pennies to get by. He had the currency to spare, and Harry had every intention of using it. Moreover, he had an unprecedented amount of freedom for the next two weeks, and combined, Harry was determined to find the answers that had thus far eluded him.

Before that though, Harry intended to arrange some things he'd wanted to do since he'd first met Hagrid. He wanted to see a healer, and moreover, he wanted to purchase clothes he could actually call his own. Dudley's hand-me-downs were plainly humiliating, but more importantly, Harry was fairly certain that his relatives had caused some damage with the frequent starvation, the beatings courtesy of Dudley, and the countless days he'd spent locked in his cupboard. As Harry thought about it though, something else came to mind.

Once he'd eaten, Harry gathered up his things and retreated to his rented room, approached his trunk, and rummaged through his haphazard stack of textbooks. He found what he was looking for on a dogeared page of his second year Potions text: a nutritional potion created specifically to counteract the effects of prolonged, paediatric malnourishment.

It was exactly what he needed.

With a pleased grin, Harry gathered up his knapsack, returned to Diagon Alley, and sought out an apothecary that _didn't_ also pass as a biohazard. He found it down Offische Alley, a clean, organised shop titled 'Belladonna', with a young looking store clerk stocking shelves, and a few customers wondering the aisles..

Harry approached the counter where an aged witch was tending to a potion in a palm sized cauldron. He waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, and when she did, Harry offered her a tentative smile.

"Hello, ma'am. I wondered, do you do special orders?"

"It depends on the order," she replied, "What did you want brewed?"

Harry opened up his textbook to the appropriate page and showed her the potion. A look of fleeting sadness crossed her features, but she nodded, and asked no questions. He was grateful.

"It will take me three days. The cost is a galleon.."

She offered him an order form, Harry filled it out - with another false name - and accepted the copy she handed to him. With a nod of thanks, Harry passed over two gold coins without hesitation, took a step back and spoke with another smile.

"I'll come pick it up in three days. Thank you, ma'am."

"I'll see you then, Mr Brown."

Once again, Harry returned to the Ugly Wench, settled at the bar and ordered himself a club sandwich and some gillywater for lunch. As he did, Harry took a long glance around the common area, and wondered at the patrons present. There were two hags in a corner, and a trio of hooded unknowns in another. An old man was smoking a pipe at the other end of the bar, and at a table in the middle of the room, there was a quartet of rowdy businessmen well into their pints of ale.

The place didn't seem so lively as the Leaky Cauldron, but without much natural lighting, and the dim glow of candlelight the pub's only illumination, perhaps that was inevitable. Either way, Harry's food arrived and his attention turn to eating it as quickly as possible, ravenous despite himself.

When he was done, he returned to his room and was not surprised to find Hedwig there, a missive bound to her talon. It was from Professor McGonagall, a response to a letter he'd sent her earlier in the week. She'd approved his request to transfer from Divination into Ancient Runes, and from Care of Magical Creatures to Arithmency. She'd also accepted his request to start the optional Saturday classes of Economics, Estate Management, Legal Studies and Deportment.

Neville had recommended that Harry take them, and although Harry hadn't had the opportunity to ask him _why_, Harry figured he'd had a reasonable justification for it. The classes would take up much of his free time, but after he had briefly perused his ledger, he knew they would be useful for the future.

Likely, Neville's intentions had been to ensure Harry didn't flounder when that day came, and Harry wasn't certain how he could thank his classmate for the suggestion.

He'd think on it later.

Harry had a smile on his face when he'd finished reading the letter. Without ado, he penned a reply in order to thank his head of house. He tied it to Hedwig's talon, and instructed her to rest up before she headed back to Scotland. Afterwards, he picked up his booklist, settled himself on the edge of his bed, scanned through its contents and considered the texts he'd have to purchase for the following year.

The textbooks for Astronomy, herbology and History of Magic remained the same, but he'd upgraded to the third edition books for Charms, Transfiguration and Potions. Defence Against the Dark Arts had new textbooks as well, not to mention the introductory texts for Ancient Runes, Arithmency, and his four optional classes on Saturdays. It would cost a fair bit, but Harry had just learned that he had a great deal of gold to spare, so they were purchases he didn't mind procuring.

The gold made him somewhat uncomfortable, in all actuality, but it was something Harry recognised he would have to get used to. After all, Unless some sort of colossal travesty occurred, the wealth wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

That said, it made his life, and certain things within it, infinitely more convenient, and Harry intended to take distinct advantage of that fact. To his knowledge, he was the last Potter, and it wasn't as though he had anyone else to worry about. And so Harry planned away, and elsewhere, an old portrait waited.


	3. Chapter 3: The Search For Answers

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Three: The Search For Answers **

_August 18th - 19th_

In the book store that afternoon, Harry approached the counter with his assigned school books in hand. Before he made it there, however, it occurred to him that he could always use some more texts to supplement those assigned by his teachers. In essays past, he'd been encouraged to add more reference materials to support his thesis statements, but always with something more interesting to hold his attention, Harry had never been particularly inclined to do so.

This admittedly lazy attitude had been exacerbated by Ron and Hermione, the latter of whom couldn't tolerate being second best, and the former of whom couldn't tolerate being considered inferior. There was also the poor habits he'd acquired during primary school, dumbing himself down to avoid unwelcome attention from his teachers and relatives, and so Harry had simply settled for mediocrity, despite knowing that he could and should have done better.

He'd changed though,, which generally happened after a few too many death defying adventures, and so with a thoughtful hum, and the mental reminder of his resolve to do better, to be ready, Harry settled his basket at the end of the Charms aisle, and began what would be a long few hours of skim reading.

Other books joined the growing stack in his basket, spell books, fictional books, factual books, until the basket was full, Harry's eyes were tired and his head was clogged, full of information that he'd not really registered but figured was probably good to know anyway. A dragon's blood was toxic without being purified first, there were several breeds of elves, and Knocktern Alley was magical Britain's red-light district, more than anything else, where debauchery was had and where the Ministry of Magic turned a blind eye to the socially unacceptable, oftentimes illegal, happenings therein.

He was curious about what else he didn't know, and was eager to learn.

With a grunt of effort, Harry hauled the basket onto the front counter, gave the elderly cashier a rueful grin and queried, "Any chance you can make the bag feather light, sir?"

"Of course, lad," he answered, "Why so many books?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, fished out his Gringott's cash card and answered, "Supplemental texts, mostly, but others are just interesting."

The old wizard rang up Harry's purchases, Harry paid and took the lightened bag with a grateful thanks and he left the store, headed back to The Ugly Wench to deposit his newest purchases inside his trunk.

Inside his room at the inn, Harry opened up his book compartment, stored his new purchases within and watched, curious, as the magic of the trunk automatically sorted them into order by subject, author, and title. It was a masterpiece of Ancient Runes, Charms, Transfiguration and Enchanting, and Harry wasn't the only one in awe of it.

The trunk had been a gift from his grandparents when Harry was born. It had been left in his trust vault until Harry turned eleven, or until it was otherwise needed, though Harry wasn't sure who'd left it there. Perhaps it was his parents, preempting their inability to give it to him themselves, or perhaps it was the likeminded creators, but Harry had never known whom to ask, and he'd never had the opportunity, either.

As Harry checked off another cross on his to-do list, he recognised that it would take him a long time to be able to recreate something like the trunk. He found himself excited by all of the possibilities magic presented, and Harry threw himself into his pre-readings, suddenly enthusiastic to learn as much as he could in a way he hadn't been since before his first year at Hogwarts, where he'd met Ron, and had come upon an adventure that had nearly killed them both.

When dinner time rolled around, Harry descended into the pub's common area, ordered himself a cottage pie, some water and chips, settled himself in an out of the way corner, and was surprised when the aged clerk from Flourish and Blott's settled across from him, genial smile on his face and a pint of ale in hand.

"Good evening, sir," Harry greeted politely, "Did you have a pleasant afternoon?"

"Aside from those monstrous books the new Hogwarts professor for Creatures has assigned, i did."

"I saw those," Harry acknowledged, "Seems like an interesting bloke, if the books are anything to go by."

'Perhaps," he conceded, "Though I do wonder about how far Hogwarts has fallen, what with Potions, and History, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Now this? It's rather concerning. Why, in my day…"

Harry was initially inclined to lash out in protective defence of his beloved Hogwarts, but before he did, he took the opportunity to, as best as possible, objectively think about the school, what he'd learned and experienced there from the perspective of an outsider, or an alumni, as it were, and afterwards, he genuinely found Hogwarts lacking as an academic institute.

For the Gryffindor, who'd considered Hogwarts the first real home he'd ever had, it was disillusioning.

Harry didn't like the feeling.

"Do you think Hogwarts is the best school of magic there is?"

The elderly wizard, not quite ancient, but perhaps in his late nineties or his early centennial, released a loud, booming laugh, wiped at streaming brown eyes and pointed at Harry, as though the boy, or rather what the boy had said, was the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life. Harry himself, rather perplexed by the response, wasn't sure how he should respond to that, and so he simply waited, and was not disappointed.

"Lad, Hogwarts hasn't been considered the best school of magic in decades. Who cares what our government tells us, Hogwarts is an embarrassment in the international community."

Harry solemnly nodded his acknowledgement, quietly ate his dinner and listened, attentive, as the old man reminisced about his own days at Hogwarts, where he'd been a Ravenclaw during the last years of peace before what he still called 'The Great War', despite the fact that it had long been recognised as 'World War I'. He moved onto stories about the four years he'd served in the British military, and Harry listened, enthralled, as he retold years of courage, and valour, of fear and despair. He wondered if that was what the war with Voldemort had been like, but dared not ask, correctly assuming that particular aspect of history was still far too fresh in the collective memory of magical Britain.

When the old man returned to his home for the night, Harry retreated into his rented room, settled back at the small desk provided and continued his pre-reading, with a journal at hand to write down important facts about the topic he currently studied. Harry had been working on his quill writing skills throughout the summer and in doing so, his handwriting had actually become something halfway decent, but the thirteen year old still had a long way to go to have a script that could at all pass for calligraphy. He was determined to improve though, so once he'd finished his most recent chapter of 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Edition III', Harry withdrew an old piece of blank parchment, inked his quill and continued his practise until his hand cramped and the page was filled with muggle song lyrics, inane musings, and his thoughts on his Transfiguration pre-reading chapters.

Harry eventually grew tired and went to bed, but when he woke in the morning, and had eaten his breakfast, rather than return to his books, he instead returned to Diagon Alley, exchanged a bag full of galleons into pounds, and exited into London proper, and the typical, cloudy day therein.

From there, Harry purchased himself an oyster card, boarded the tube and exited on Oxford St, eager _not_ to put up with Dudley's hand me downs any longer. He wasn't particularly eager to shop for long though, and so in the first department store he found, Harry settled for with three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts and two button downs, a jumper, a blazer, some exercise clothes, trainers and loafers, all with some room for him to grow. he bought himself a set of winter pyjamas, enough toiletries to last him a few months, and returned to the Ugly Wench, purchases in hand.

After they were all suitably deposited into the appropriate trunk compartments, Harry binned the rubbish, carted his hands through his flyaway hair and thought over his last self-appointed task for the next two weeks. He'd left it until he had finished everything else because he had assumed rightly that it would be the hardest, and would take the longest, to complete. It involved finding out about his past, and his family's, and given that most everyone had avoided the topic like the plague, excepting the bare bones, anyway, for the two chaotic years they'd known him, Harry doubted information would be easily accessible.

Harry was resourceful though, he had _always_ been resourceful, just as much as he had always been stubborn, and determined, and absolutely _relentless_ in each and every one of his pursuits. This time would be no exception. Rather, he was more determined than he'd ever been because nothing was more important to him than finding his answers: who was he?

Harry started at the most accessible, a trio of history books Hermione had once mentioned on that first train ride to Hogwarts, what seemed a lifetime ago now: 'Great Wizarding Events of the 20th Century', 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' and 'Modern Magical History'. It was perhaps foolish, or optimistic, or both, of him to think there would be any information there, but it was worth a shot and aside from the ledger he'd been given at Gringott's, Harry was essentially shooting blind.

It turned out that aside from the birth dates of his parents - March 27th and January 30th, respectively - Harry learned nothing new, and so he resorted to the ledger, not particularly sure of what he was looking for within it's pages.

Whatever it was, he was certain that it wasn't within the finances and investment sectors, and so he settled on the properties section, and began to scan through the overview that the ledger provided. It mainly just listed the property names, their locations, and their financial value, but as Harry predominantly focused on the properties located in Britain, his attention settled on a property in Mayfair, a townhouse, no doubt surrounded by commercial, and very few private, buildings. .

Close by and easy to access, Harry flicked to the page with more information on what was simply called 'The Mayfair House' and with a growing grin, learned that it was where his paternal grandparents had raised his father, James, if the dates of occupancy were anything to go by.

Mayfair itself had come a long way from the bustling market place it had once been, but as Harry learned that the house had been bought by Charlus and Dorea Potter in the late 40's, and had been empty since their move into Potter Manor - or Redridge Hall - in the late 70's, Harry's interest only grew

It would - hopefully - have more leads in the house itself.

Thus, with nothing better to do, and anxious for any sort of indication that he'd belonged somewhere, that he'd once had a family that was more than just a few photographs, names and dates, Harry pulled his shoes back on, gathered his satchel and left the Ugly Wench, once again headed for the nearest underground station. He had a family, and a past, that he intended to learn all he could about.

He didn't have the time to spare. not if he wanted answers before his return to Hogwarts, anyway.

There, he'd be under the perpetual scrutiny of critical students and similarly critical teachers, all of whom would surely have something to say about Harry's search, and who would expect him to follow their suggestions, regardless of his own opinions. Indeed, he had hardly any time at all, and what little time he _did_ have, Harry had no intention of wasting.


	4. Chapter 4: The Mayfair House

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Four: The Mayfair House**

_August 19th _

Mayfair was an area of central London, located east of Hyde Park and within the city of Westminster. Surrounded by Park Lane, Oxford St, Regent St and Piccadilly, it was one of the most expensive residential districts in London, though it was predominantly occupied by commercial buildings, and a few exclusive restaurants and boutiques. On his Uncle Vernon's upper middle-class salary, his relatives could only _dream_ of living there, and Harry thought they might just _die_ to know he owned a house within the area.

Because Mayfair itself didn't have a tube station, Harry had had to disembark at Oxford St, and walk the rest of the way to his intended location. it had involved a map from the convenience store at the station, but the weather was pleasant, and Harry was content to take his time.

Then he reached the house, and rather than head straight up to the front door, he instead stood to take it all in. He tried to imagine his grandparents and father there, working in the yard, or walking through the door, or welcoming him home, and the longing he felt was almost choking.

The house itself was on a block of similar townhouses, but it was unique in the sense that it looked untouched. The neighbouring homes had evidence of their inhabitants, toys and other such miscellaneous odds and ends, but as Harry approached the front walk, backpack slung on his shoulders and gaze fixed on the house he might have, in another life, called home, Harry's scrutiny was interrupted by one of the neighbours.

It was, surprisingly, someone he knew, and as Harry approached Justin Finch-Fletchly, he marvelled over the odds. London was home to however many million people, after all, and what was the likelihood of crossing paths with one of the very small minority of citizens that Harry had met?.

The Hufflepuff looked none the worse for ware in the wake of his brief stint as a statue, but he looked awkward, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't particularly find the words. Harry didn't really have anything to say either, but in the wake of his new resolution, he figured he might as well try.

"You reckon I'll find any squatters in there?" harry queried, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, and an even more brief explanation of their respective reasons for being in Mayfair. As explained, Justin was spending the last two weeks of his holidays with his elderly relatives, and Harry, of course, was in search for answers.

Justin laughed and shrugged, and insisted Harry go find what he'd come looking for. He also made sure to make the Gryffindor promise to stop by when he was done, and after doing so, Harry bade the Hufflepuff a brief farewell, trod back onto the front walk and made his way onto the stoop of what should have still been his grandparents' home.

What had happened to them, Harry wondered, and why didn't he know? Why was everyone so opposed to informing Harry of he and his family's past? Didn't he have the right to have those questions answered?

Unsure of what to expect, and most certainly not prepared for it to be unlocked, Harry turned the door handle, felt it click beneath his hands and watched, curiously, as it swung open on it's own accord. It opened up to a small, brightly lit foyer, with an open doorway branching off into a cozy sitting room to the left, and a stairway that led upstairs in front of him,, bared right enough to allow for a hallway that led further into the house.

The hallway was tiled white ceramic, but all the same, Harry kicked off his shoes in the doorway, entered the sitting room and was unsure of what to expect.

The remnants of a massacre, perhaps. Or maybe the remnants of a happy family. Maybe the remains of what his grandparents had been doing the day they'd died.

He found none of that though.

All the personal effects had been moved, deposited in their rightful places. There was no scattered odds and ends, nothing to show that this place had once been a home, simply books in their shelves and photos in their frames. Cream walls, a tan carpet, with tan leather furnishings, polished oak accents and dark brown, blackout curtains.. The place was pristine, untouched… empty, like a photo from a homemaker catalogue, or a room in a home up for auction.

Above the mantle, there was a family portrait, one of those professional ones in which no one smiled. Two middle aged adults. Two brothers, two sisters, James Potter the youngest, the puppy fat on his face an easy tell, and a small plaque in the ebony frame. A small coat of arms, and the family name beneath it, the motto beside it and the names beneath that.

Charlus. Dorea. Henry. James. Callista. Celeste.

His _family_.

With a groan, Harry dropped into a tan leather arm chair, noted in the back of his mind the absence of dust, and rubbed at eyes that wouldn't stop streaming tears.

Honestly, Harry wasn't sure why he was crying. He'd already known that he was the last Potter left, with a legacy he couldn't comprehend and enormous shoes to fill, but he supposed he'd just never sat down and _grieved_ for all those whom he'd lost, or rather, all those whom he'd never had. So he sat, and he cried, and when he had no more tears to shed, he got back to his feet and continued to explore the house that might have been home.

The rest of the first floor was made up of a kitchen, a dining room and another sitting area, the doorway of which was in an alcove beneath the hallway's stairs. Another doorway led into a small half bathroom, while yet another guarded a staircase, at the bottom of which was an underground basement that _wasn't_ a potions lab, or a duelling room, or anything of the sort. It was simply storage, but rather than take the time to go through everything left behind, Harry instead retraced his steps upwards and back to the front door. He contemplated the upper level, thought better of it, and made to leave, rung out and weary, but just as he curled his hand around the doorknob, a pop behind him heralded the arrival of an unexpected visitor.

"Master Henry is leaving so soon?"

It was a house elf, tiny and wide eyed, with irises the colour of cornflowers. She wore a tiny little maid's uniform, a crest embroidered into the apron, and she wrung her hands in front of her, apparently anxious.

"Blimey," Harry mumbled, "I didn't know I had a house elf."

"You is being having many, Master Henry. "I is Totsy. It is being Totsy's job to keep Mayfair House clean for Master Henry."

"Hello, Totsy," harry acknowledged, smile on his face, "I'm glad to have met you."

Totsy preened under the welcome, but she queried, "Will Master Henry be returning?"

"Maybe next summer, Totsy," Harry answered, and the little elf practically deflated before his eyes, "But you can come take care of me, if you like. I'm staying in Diagon Alley until I go to Hogwarts."

Totsy lit up like a Christmas tree and the elf curtsied her gratitude, chattering happily all the while. Evidently, the only company she'd had aside from the other Potter house elves was Mistress Celeste's tabby cat, who was getting up there in years and wasn't really expected to live much longer. Harry wondered if he'd ought to take the cat to Hogwarts with him, but supposed he still had a fortnight to think about it. Either way, Justin was probably waiting for him, so Harry bade a temporary farewell to Totsy, closed the door behind him and made his way into the neighbour's front lawn and up their stoop. He sounded the doorbell, Justin appeared a few moments later, and he let Harry in with a smile, to lead him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

An elderly lady, with black hair flecked with grey and smile lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth that spoke of a long, happy life, was peeling potatoes at the counter, and two kids, Justin's younger siblings, were seated at the dining table, occupied with colouring books.

"Nan," Justin began, "This is Harry Potter. I go to school with him. Harry, my grandmother, Lucinda Finch. I told her what you were doing here, and it turns out she knew your grandparents."

"I did," Mrs Finch confirmed, releasing Harry's offered hand, "But then, I suppose it's an inevitability after living in this house for forty years. They were a stoic pair, not at all like those boys of theirs, but they had their moments, as we all do. I was sorry to learn of their passing. 1980, wasn't it?"

"I'm not certain," Harry answered, "Between August 1980 and November 1981, as I understand it. Do you… do you know what happened to them?"

"Dorea was never the same after Henry died," Mrs Finch recalled, "She didn't take care of herself, she grew ill, passed away in her sleep at the manor house, in Wales. Charlie buried his wife, went to bed, and didn't wake up the next morning. A broken heart, I knew. They loved each other terribly, you know, and Charlie had always insisted that he couldn't live without her. He would say 'Lucy, love, if the world ended in fire tomorrow, I would be happy, so long as I have my Dorea by my side'. You look like him, you know, like Charlus. I guess I shouldn't be surprised though, James was the spit of his father. It runs in the family, it seems."

Harry listened avidly as Mrs Finch ramblingly recollected some stories of his grandparents. When she excused herself to continue her dinner preparation, however, he didn't pry about his newfound uncle, Henry, and his newfound Aunts, Callista and Celeste. He wasn't quite sure if he was ready to learn of how they had died, and so instead, he spent some time with Justin, playing video games, and bemoaning summer homework, and musing over the possibilities of their approaching third year at Hogwarts School. Evening drew near however, and Harry needed to return to the Ugly Wench, and so he made his farewells to Mrs Finch and Justin guided him to the door, fidgeting nervously all the while.

"Is something wrong?" Harry queried.

"No," Justin answered with a vehement shake of his head. "No, I just wanted to… well, I wanted to apologise, actually. For thinking you were the heir of Slytherin. It was stupid of me, in hindsight."

Harry smiled and shrugged, unsure of what to say, despite how genuinely touched he was by the gesture. "That's alright, Justin. Thanks for the apology all the same. I don't think _anyone's_ said sorry. I appreciate it."

Justin's grin was relieved, and the two teens shook hands, but then Harry left and Justin closed the door, and just like the day before, another afternoon had passed before Harry had even realised it. He'd learned more than he'd expected he would, about his grandparents, about his father's siblings, about his father as a child, and as Harry slipped into the Ugly Wench, he supposed that it had been an afternoon well spent. And if he got a new friend in justin Finch-Fletchly out of it, than all the better.

Harry had learned the hard way the year before that he could never have too many friends, after all.

Inside his rented room, Harry settled himself on his bed, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered what life would have been like with his paternal aunts, or his uncle. He imagined it would have been a great deal better than what his life had been with the Dursleys, and Harry fell asleep dreaming of the what could have beens, uncomfortably aware that he was the last Potter left.

It suddenly seemed like a burden he couldn't bare, and Harry was unsure of where he should go from there. As his conscious thought faded, however, and dreams took over, he came to the conclusion that he'd decide in the morning. For now, Morpheus beckoned, and the lure of dreams was hard to ignore.

**Author's Note:** All information about Mayfair was acquired from Wikipedia. Though I've visited Hyde Park, and the Marble Arch, Piccadilly and Oxford St, I was only a lowly Australian tourist, London continues to call me stranger, and I will never be a resident of Mayfair…

A guest reviewer named Annie asked about my blindness, and how I go about writing chapters. I was asked by a few other reviewers, whom I replied to via private message, but for Annie, and anyone else interested, I'll explain quickly.

All Apple IoS devices have an accessibility feature called 'Voice Over', which is a screen reader that aurally reads any text on my computer screen. It's controlled by my keyboard and the few trackpad shortcuts I've learned, and that's how I go about writing and posting my stories, researching, reading, and generally, just most computer things.

Windows devices, as I understand it, have something familiar, but I've never used anything other than 'Voice Over', with the exception of a device called 'Jaws', which, to my knowledge, is compatible with both Apple and Windows products.

Hope that answers your question, Annie.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone. I'm glad you've enjoyed so far. Until next time, -t.


	5. Chapter 5: The Sacrifice of Blood

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Five: The Sacrifice of Blood**

_August 20th_

Over a morning tea of chocolate brownie lathered in chocolate sauce, Harry read through the introductory chapter of his newest Potions text. As he did, his thoughts were elsewhere, on all that he'd learned the day before, on the scrumptious breakfast Totsy had provided that morning, and on the startling introduction to his dead aunt's tabby cat, Athena. She'd taken to following him like a furry, feline shadow, and even now, she was stretched out in the chair across from him, lazily indulging in the summer sun.

His musings were interrupted, however, with the sudden appearance of Justin beside his table. Harry had made himself comfortable outside of Florien Fortescue's ice-cream parlour, and thus far, he'd remained undisturbed. Between unsolicited assistance with his studies, and the free food, It had been rather pleasant, actually.

At the appearance of his classmate, Harry blinked, somewhat bemused. Nevertheless, he deposited his Potions text and journal into his satchel, hoisted the cat, Athena, into his lap, and gave Justin a rueful grin.

"Morning, mate."

"Morning," Justin replied, and settled himself in the seat Athena had recently occupied. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Harry answered, without any real inclination to inform the Hufflepuff that he was still absorbing all that he'd learned the day before. It was probably a no brainer, anyway, and Harry had never been particularly fond of showing weakness. Not at Privet Drive, not at Hogwarts, not in front of Hufflepuffs who were decent enough to apologise when they knew they were in the wrong. "You? What brings you to the Alley today?"

"School supplies. I'm meeting Susan, Hannah and Gabe here. Did you want to join us?"

Harry grimaced, half in pained remembrance, half in distaste for the offer. Hannah Abbott had been rather vocal with her belief that Harry was the heir of Slytherin, and although Susan Bones and Gabriel Tate had never openly voiced similar opinions, they hadn't defended him either. He was therefore not particularly inclined to spend time with them, but wasn't really sure how to say that without appearing as a complete tosser.

"I, err…" Harry looked around for inspiration, and then figured the truth was the best option, "I don't think I can spend time with your friends without being a complete git. They, err… made their opinions about me very clear after you were petrified."

Justin gave a chagrined wince, but he nodded his understanding, and Harry was glad that he didn't push the issue. "I'm sorry for that, again. I was - _we_ were - out of line, accusing you of that."

"Its not your place to apologise for other people's mistakes," Harry answered, "And you've already apologised for your own."

From over Justin's shoulder, Harry caught sight of the three Hufflepuffs, chattering carelessly between themselves as they approached. He gave a wan smile, and turned back to his muggle-born companion. "Your friends are here, Justin."

Justin turned his head and waved, got to his feet and looked back at Harry, rueful smile on his face. "Guess I'll see you later, Harry. Good luck with the search."

"Thanks," Harry acknowledged, "Catch you later."

When Justin and his friends were out of sight, Harry withdrew his Potions text and journal once again, and set to work annotating his pre-reading chapters, Athena in his lap and content with the minimal attention he offered her. He was disrupted, however, when the Hufflepuffs returned, school supplies purchased and eager for lunch of the dessert variety.

"Can we join you?" Susan Bones queried, expression anxious. She gnawed at her lower lip and her auburn hair was flecked gold in the noonday sun. She was very pretty, with a round face and bright blue eyes, but all he could think of was the expression on her face that day in the library, when she and her friends had looked at him as though he was a leper, or something worse.

In Little Whinging, Harry had come to expect such expressions, had accepted it, even, because he'd believed that despite anything in the muggle world, he'd always be welcome among the citizens of magical Britain. His peers and teachers had disproved that ideal, and Harry knew that he would only ever fend for himself in the future. All the same, their rejection had stung like nothing else, and it wasn't something he could or would so easily forget.

"Are you sure I won't curse you where you sit?" he asked bitterly. She flinched, and he was momentarily gratified. The feeling didn't last though, and afterwards, Harry just felt tired, and drained, and so damnably _old_. "Sure, whatever. I'm done here, anyway."

Once Athena was situated on the ground, Harry got to his feet, packed his bags, and bade them a good afternoon. Justin gave him an apologetic smile as Harry passed him, Harry nodded his understanding and continued on his way, headed back to the Ugly Wench and the solitude his rented room provided. As he left, he heard Justin rebuke his friends, and Susan's reply.

"I _told_ you he wasn't interested in your company. Maybe next time, you'll actually listen."

"Merlin, I feel awful."

Seated on the edge of his bed, with Athena curled up in his lap, Harry called Totsy to him and the elf appeared with a pop, an enthusiastic grin on her face. She curtsied in deference, Harry instructed her to rise, and he queried, "Do you know of any sentient portraits of the Potter family?"

"They is all being at Potter Manor, Master Henry," Totsy answered, "Is you wishing to be going there?"

Harry took a moment to consider that option, and quickly came to the conclusion that it was probably, at this point in time, his best bet in finding answers about his family. Therefore, he nodded his head, deposited Athena against his pillows and got to his feet, indisputably anxious. Nevertheless, he took hold of Totsy's offered hand, closed his eyes against the vacuum sensation Totsy's magic offered, and when he opened them again, he was no longer inside the Ugly Wench.

Instead, harry was on a gravel road bordered by ageless woodland. In front of him, there loomed a towering, wrought iron gate, framed by a redbrick wall over twice as high as he was tall. Mounted on the two pillars thatsupported the gates, there were a pair of stone carved dragons, with rubies in place of their eyes and wickedly sharp looking incisors.

He pretended not to notice how remarkably lifelike the two creatures appeared.

Instead, he turned to Totsy, awaiting instruction.

"Master Henry is needing to unlock family wards," Totsy explained patiently, "He is to be cutting his hand to sacrifice his blood."

A part of Harry was repulsed by the thought. Ron's unrelenting insistence that blood magic was dark, was _evil echoed in his mind,_ and he wanted to refuse to even _consider_ participating in it. Then he thought: this was his _family_. It couldn't be dark, could it, if _they'd_ used it?Or maybe, just maybe, Ron was wrong?

Conflicted and anxious, Harry mulled over his options again, but eventually, his desire to learn more about his family won out, and Harry turned to Totsy, who already held a cutting knife in hand. He accepted it in a trembling fist, cut a deep line into his palm, and grimaced at the sharp pain he felt radiate up his arm.

At once, the crimson, viscous liquid that was his lifeblood seeped into his cupped palm, and Harry looked to Totsy for further direction. In turn, the house elf pointed to the lock in the centre of the gate, and Harry pressed his bloodied palm against the cold black metal. He was entirely uncertain of what he should expect in response.

What Harry received was a course of magic up and down his arm, and he marvelled at the foreign sensation. His magic welled up inside him, coursed down his outstretched arm, and straight through the blood on the lock, and in the meantime, the magic of the wards, of Redridge Hall, of his family manor, coursed up from the gate, through his arm and straight to his core, where he was recognised, and welcomed home as kin, as a beloved, and dearly missed, son.

It nearly brought Harry, who'd never had a home to call his own, to tears. He revelled in the sensation of warmth, and comfort, and _home_, one that was his, and no one else's, with the exception, of course, of the Potters before him. He didn't think he could ever get used to the feeling. He didn't ever want to, and he hoped he never would.

Nearly lost completely in his thoughts, Harry almost missed it when the gates clicked unlocked, and creaked open. But then Totsy was there, chivying him forward, past the stone sentinels and up a cobblestone, willow tree lined driveway. The canopy stretched overhead like a tunnel to paradise, Harry caught the sounds of birds and fairies in the trees, and beside him, Totsy had healed his hand with a touch of her magic. She was skipping her way up the path, excited to be returning _home_.

He couldn't blame her. He was excited, too, and indisputably nervous.

There was a circular drive at the end of the road, the centrepiece a marble fountain that spouted water overhead, glittering in the summer sunshine like drops of precious diamonds. Behind it, however, was what had Harry's attention. He took it all in, awed, and lost for words.

Redridge Hall was a marvel, inspired by Grecian architecture, three storeys tall, a sprawling manor with marble pillars, a flat roof, and an arched overhang above the oaken double doors. There were images carved into each pillar, telling the tales of Welsh legends, two more dragons, brass this time, as door knockers, and a brass plaque to the right of the doors. It read 'Redridge Hall' above the family's coat of arms, to the right of which was the family name - _Potter_ - and beneath that, the family's motto - _Familia Primum _- and oddly, the year the manor was built, 1743.

And Harry James Potter, raised with nothing to his name, treated as something less than a pauper at his relatives' behest, couldn't fathom that it was all, singularly _his_.


	6. Chapter 6: The Manor

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Six: The Manor**

_August 20th Cont._

Redbridge Hall was a wonder. It possessed a certain elegance that Hogwarts lacked, but it bore the same ageless grandeur, and Harry took it all in with wide eyes, and a mild sense of disassociation.

Despite the evidence, it was hard to believe that it was all his.

The entrance hall was bordered by a set of double oak doors to his left and right, while a tan runner led up a set of wide, marble stairs. Yet another set of inordinately lifelike dragons stood sentinel at the base of each bannister, and the top of the staircase tapered into a mezzanine level that, on both sides, overlooked the vestibule below.

Back on the ground floor, a set of hallways disappeared behind the marble staircase, and where there weren't doors, there were portraits full of gawking strangers. A fair number of them bore the same disarray of sable hair, high cheekbones and slightly peaked eyebrows, and the boy wizard marvelled.

Harry had never looked like anyone but the photographs of James Potter. Although he'd repeatedly heard of his uncanny resemblance to the man, seeing was believing, and it turned out that James wasn't the only one Harry took after.

The prospect was heartening, and the familiar sensation of _home_ bubbled inside his heart.

Harry finally had somewhere to belong, and with that in mind, he smiled to himself, cast his gaze around the entry way, and contemplated his options. He was uncertain of where he should explore first.

He was saved from having to decide by the audible 'pop' that heralded the arrival of another house elf. This one appeared significantly older than Totsy, with wispy white hairs pulled into an immaculate ponytail, and a face weathered by time. He was clad in a butler's uniform, and his unfamiliar brown eyes were kind.

It was a peculiar comfort.

Did a subconscious part of him recognise the house elves' fealty? He'd taken to Totsy startlingly fast, and as the most recent house elf bowed respectfully, Harry already - inexplicably - trusted him.

It was something to consider, he supposed, but as the elf spoke, Harry determined that, until he'd found all the answers to the questions he had, it could wait until another day.

"Welcome home, Master Henry, I am Noddy."

Harry smiled, thanked him for the welcome, and queried about the elf's responsibilities. As he did, Totsy disappeared to locations unknown, and Noddy proceeded with a guided tour around Redridge Hall.

"In your absence, it is my job to assign tasks to the other elves. I make sure all of the houses are taken care of, and the tenants are paying their rent, and everything is in working order.

Noddy was, essentially, a steward. The financial aspect of the Potter Estate had been predominantly maintained by Flintlock, but it seemed everything else had been taken care of by the aged house elf beside him.

Harry didn't know how to express his gratitude. Most elves didn't appreciate payment, but the earnest 'thank you' he gave wasn't nearly enough.

Something else to consider, he supposed.

Before then, Harry took in everything Noddy showed him, a lump in his throat. It was overwhelming, the depth of history, of heritage he found, and Harry wanted to learn everything he could. His entire life, his family history had been a blank slate, and the opportunity to rectify that?

it was priceless.

Noddy guided him into an informal sitting room, and Harry dropped himself into a wing-backed armchair by the fire without complaint. He closed his eyes, and simply breathed, and once more, he marvelled at the sensation of _home_.

He was startled out of his mind, then, when his peace was disrupted.

"You are James' son? Henry?"

Again with the use of his birth name. He'd heard it a lot over the last few days, and although he didn't mind, per se, it was rather odd. In the last couple of years, he'd always just been 'Harry'. In primary school, he'd been 'Harry' to differentiate between the three other Henrys in his class, but the boy supposed it was just something he'd have to get used to. His thoughts on the matter, however, were derailed upon sight of the portrait who'd spoken.

On the mantle, there was a painting of an aged wizard with an uncanny resemblance to Harry's father. They shared the same hazel eyes, but this man's hair had turned silver with the age James Potter would, regretfully, never acquire, and the laugh lines of a life well lived, and a man well loved. It was the same man from the portrait in the Mayfair House, Charlus Potter, and a part of Harry _jolted_ with the revelation that he was seated in front of his own father's father.

His _grandfather_.

With a mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara Desert, Harry licked at chapped lips, and managed to reply, "Yes, Sir. I'm Harry."

"Welcome to Redridge Hall, lad," Charlus acknowledged, "We've waited for you." As though an afterthought, he added, "Not that there's much else to do around here."

As Charlus spoke, Noddy appeared beside Harry with a muted 'pop', tea tray and tea service in hand. The teen was mildly chagrined that he'd not noticed the aged elf's departure, and made a mental note to work on his situational awareness.

With the amount of enemies Harry had unwittingly inherited, it wouldn't do him any good to be caught unawares. It was a valid concern, granted, but in the meantime, Noddy diverted his attention to other matters, apparently intent on providing refreshments.

Harry had enough common sense not to stop him, and neither was he inclined to.

"How do you like your tea, Master Henry?"

"Err… milk, no sugar, please."

Once his tea was served, and when Noddy had disappeared with yet another muted 'pop', Harry looked towards the portrait, somewhat at a loss of how to proceed.

Charlus, however, had no such qualms, and Harry envied the portrait's unobtrusive confidence. It - or perhaps 'he' was a more apt term - was neither bold, nor abrasive, and if this was only an assorted combination of memories, magic, and oil paint, Harry wondered what Charlus Potter had been like in the flesh, alive and well.

Harry had the impression that Charlus Potter had been a force to be reckoned with.

"The house elves have kept us up to date with the goings on in magical Britain, but we know woefully little of your life after Halloween of '81. Would you catch us up on the details, lad?"

It would be an impressive understatement to say that Harry didn't like to talk about himself. The attention and scrutiny it generally put him under made him exceedingly uncomfortable, and honestly, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Ever.

With that in mind, however, it wasn't just anyone asking, and how on Earth could he refuse his own grandfather? Portrait or no, Harry couldn't bring himself to let the man - or portrait, or _whatever_ - down.

"What did you want to know?"

"Everything."

"You probably know this already, but my mum and dad were killed on Halloween, 1981. I was sent to live with my mother's sister and her family. They didn't tell me anything about magic, or my parents, or anything, really, but when I turned eleven…"

Harry's tale lasted some time, but between sips of tea, and glances at his silently captivated audience, he told the whole story in full. When he was done, as he settled back in his armchair, and waited for his grandfather to speak, he felt oddly, unexplainably, lighter, as though a burden he hadn't known he'd carried had finally been lifted off his shoulders. He'd not appreciated the scrutiny he'd received as he had talked, but a burden shared was a burden halved, and he couldn't deny that it felt good to talk about his childhood, and his 'adventures' at Hogwarts.

He hadn't even realised he'd wanted to.

"To clarify, you know nothing of your family? Of our legacy?" Charlus queried. "No one has told you anything?"

Upon a nod of confirmation from Harry, Charlus hummed his acknowledgement, his eyebrows furrowed on his painted face. His lips were pursed, and his fingers were steepled, and Harry received the sudden impression that the reality was not a pleasant truth to learn.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, lad," Charlus answered, "We'll just have to educate you as best we can. What's the date?"

"The 20th of August, sir."

"None of that, Harry, it's Taid."

"Taid," Harry repeated, and the word was strange on his tongue. "What does that mean?"

"It's Welsh," Charlus answered, "The word for 'grandfather'."

Something warm bloomed in his chest, and Harry smiled contentedly. He said nothing though, simply nodded, and for some time, the pair lingered in an easy, companionable silence.

"It seems we don't have much time before you return to school," Charlus mused. "I suppose I'll start with our family's history…"

And so Charlus began to weave a tale of the first Potter, an artisan, the son of Guinevere Peverell and a mage of the crumbling Roman Empire. The first Potter was born out of wedlock, but renowned across the continent for his craft. He travelled the western world, sold his wares, and earned a small fortune, but it was in the land that would one day be part of Wales where he settled, married his love, and fathered a son.

It was Harry's turn to listen, enthralled, as his grandfather, and later, the portraits of his ancestors before Charlus, educated him on the family's legacy. It wasn't a pristine history by any stretch of the imagination, but it was _his_ blood, _his_ family, and it wasn't until Noddy popped in, a tray of food in hand, that Harry realised how much time had passed him by.

"Merlin, it's late," Harry exclaimed, startled.

"That it is," Charlus agreed, "Perhaps you would like to stay here for the evening?"

Harry contemplated the offer over his dinner of roast lamb, potatoes and vegetables, but eventually declined, certain that if he got used to it - his _home_ - than he'd only be more miserable when he'd have to leave for Hogwarts. It would be best if he completed his stay in the Ugly Wench for now, but there was always the summer of 1994 to look forward to, and quite frankly, he had a lot of information to absorb until then.

When Noddy had taken away his used plate and cutlery, Harry got to his feet, smiled at his grandfather, and said his farewells. Then he left the sitting room, and slowly meandered his way back to the foyer. There, he met Totsy, who gave him a cheerful smile, who clasped his hand in hers, and who spirited him away, back to the Ugly Wench, and Athena, who pounced on him as soon as he'd appeared in his rented suite, apparently in search of some scratches behind her velvet ears.

"Is Master Henry happy?"

Brought from his thoughts about all he'd learned that day, Harry looked at Totsy, who seemed to be indisputably anxious to hear his answer.

"Yes, Totsy," Harry answered, smiling, "I'm very happy. Thank you for taking me home today."

The little elf preened, curtsied, and answered, "It is Totsy's honour to serve."

He fidgeted in the face of her servitude, so unused to authority over anyone. His interactions with Noddy had more or less been done on autopilot, but now that he'd had the chance to absorb all that he'd discovered, Harry was overwhelmed. He had house elves bound to him as the last of the Potters, and he had a family history that dated back to the third century. Farther, actually, if one took the initiative to learn of the Peverell and Aurilias lines.

As he drifted off to sleep, however, Harry determined that the possibilities would have to wait until morning. He was tired, and it had been a long day, and Morpheus' embrace was a welcome comfort.


	7. Chapter 7: The Defining Moments

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seven: The Defining Moments**

_August 21st - 22nd_

_On the 31st of October, 1981, Harry Potter had become something more than a simple, unassuming baby. He'd become a symbol, a figure beyond mortal fallacy, and the world's perception of him would eternally remain the 'Boy Who Lived'. It didn't matter that he'd also become an orphan, or a nephew, or the ever distasteful 'freak', because to the magical world, those labels were insignificant, and only the 'Boy Who Lived' mattered._

_Undeniably, it was a defining moment in his life, but it certainly wasn't the last of them._

_His 11th birthday, the 31st of July, 1991, when his perception of the world had shifted paradigms, when he had suddenly become more than just the orphan, the nephew, or the freak. He was a wizard, too, as was his birthright, and he wore that label with pride. _

_on September 1st of that same year, He'd become a friend, a student, a _Gryffindor_, and the moments went on, shaping and creating the boy - the man - Henry James Potter would one day become._

_Until then, however, he had a lot of growing up to do, and many more moments to experience._

_With a slow exhale, Harry studied the vial he'd procured from Belladonna. He was seated on the edge of his bed, and he'd waited until nightfall so the process wouldn't disrupt his routine. The proprietress at Belladonna had warned him that it would be painful, and Harry had been prepared for that, yet he was still hesitant, and he was uncertain of the reason why._

The potion would rid him of the last physical effects of Privet Drive. Of course, the psychological scars would always remain: his lack of faith in authority figures, his dislike of attention and scrutiny, and his entirely _warranted dislike_ of small, enclosed spaces. When he took the potion, however, he would leave behind the oblivious, helpless child he'd once been, and the concept seemed like a milestone, a mark of change that he'd remember forever.

It seemed like another defining moment, and Harry was uncertain of the paradigm shift that would inevitably follow.

Then again, he thought wryly, perhaps it had already arrived.

He took a bracing breath, and reminded himself of the reason why he'd opted to take this route. His body needed to be at it's strongest in the years to come, because Voldemort wouldn't go easy on him, and Harry didn't need to be hindered by old aches and pains. Moreover, his forbearers had left him with absurdly large shoes to fill, and the image of a stunted, malnourished teen wasn't the image he wanted to present.

Not when he wanted to make them all proud.

Thus, Harry unstoppered the vial, lifted it to his lips, and drained it in several swallows. It tasted like oranges, and carrots, of fruit and vegetables and milk and rust, and Harry screwed up his face, the strange blend of flavours unpleasant on his tongue. In another moment, he'd collapsed backwards in a dead faint, the glass vial hit the carpeted floor, and Harry was lost to a world of discomfort.

-!- -#-

When Harry came around again, it was morning, and the dawn light filtered in through his open window. He spared a moment to take stock of his body, but he belatedly realised that he could see everything in crystal clarity, and consequently, Harry was distracted for a time.

He'd not expected an improvement to his vision, though it was a welcome surprise. Before long, however, the curiosity returned, and Harry clambered out of bed to discover the changes the potion had wrought. As he did so, Harry quickly established that his centre of balance was off by a margin, and as he approached the mirror to learn what else had been effected, Harry idly wondered how long it would take until it wasn't any longer.

"Well, don't you look a sight?"

Harry grimaced at the mirror's words, and examined himself with a critical eye. He stood somewhat taller, His skin was no longer so pale as to appear sickly, and neither did he appear so thin. His shoulders were a slight bit broader, too, and he was certainly still lanky like teenaged boys everywhere, but blessedly, he no longer looked half starved. He looked tired though, as though he'd just been run through the ringer, and in a certain sense, Harry supposed he had.

What to do then, since he was not allowed to do anything particularly strenuous for the next 24 hours?

-!- -#-

Later, as he pre-read more chapters in that year's textbooks, and took notes in separate journals where appropriate, he also cracked open his supplemental texts, and was not surprised by the broader understanding in each subject he received for his efforts. He took notes for _those_ texts, too, but eventually lunch time rolled around, and Harry made his way downstairs to purchase something substantial to eat.

Once he'd ordered himself a club sandwich, with a side of chips and a bottle of gillywater, Harry settled himself in a booth far from the doors, withdrew the book his grandfather had provided him, called 'A Potter's Tale: An Unabridged History of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter', and continued to read about his ancestors. There was a section for each head of house, told in story format, with a gritty sort of realism that didn't sugar coat the fact that very few Potters were pure as the driven snow. Most of them weren't light wizards, more in the 'magical grey area', but Harry still didn't fully comprehend the concept, and so he had taken to ignoring it until he could.

When his food arrived, harry put his book away, and was about to start eating when he was joined by the aged proprietor from Flourish and Blott's. He greeted the man,, made idle chit chat with him, and when the opportunity arose, he enquired about Knockturn Alley.

"It's more dangerous during the day than at night," said the proprietor, "At night, it's where most of the younger adults go to have fun, dance, drink, things like that. Daytime, however… well, that's another matter entirely."

"Sir?"

"Questionable businesses, illegal transactions, things you shouldn't go nosing around, lad. It's Nothing but trouble, but I guess I can't stop you."

Harry remembered the summer earlier, and his brief time in Borgan and Bourke's. He remembered Lucius Malfoy, and the things he'd sold there. Harry had been terrified out of his mind that he'd get caught, and that was even before he'd left the shop. He'd made it out of Knockturn Alley unscathed, however, and the more he lingered near the thoroughfare, the more his curiosity grew.

"If you're interested in exploring the place, take a cloak, hide your face. Pretty boy like you, well, some characters wouldn't hesitate to take advantage."

The proprietor cleared his throat, and changed the subject, apparently not interested in clarifying.

Harry didn't ask. Instead, he offered up a slow nod of acknowledgement, because he was honestly unsure of what he should say. Thus, he continued his meal, and the old man talked on..

Even with the warning in mind, Harry still wanted to go exploring. He made the decision to arrange some precautionary measures, however - just in case.

-!- -#-

Eventually, the man had to return to his shop, and Harry had to arrange some things for his sojourn down Knockturn Alley. Thus,. once he'd left a tip for the cantankerous bartender, he retreated upstairs, settled himself in his solitary armchair, and called Totsy to him.

"Master Henry called Totsy?"

"Yes, Totsy," harry confirmed, "I was wondering if you could do something for me?"

"Totsy is happy to serve, Master Henry."

He outlined what he needed of her, a protection detail, simply, and then asked if it was something she was comfortable with. Her eyes were wide, and shining, and Harry briefly wondered, with the familiar, encroaching feeling of panic bubbling up inside his chest, if he'd just broken his house elf.

"It would be Totsy's honour to guard Master Henry," Totsy curtsied so low, the plaits she'd pulled her hair into pooled on the floor, "Totsy will guard Master Henry with her life."

"Thank you, Totsy," harry smiled, "I appreciate your loyalty very much. I've not had many people I can trust completely."

Before his elf could fall into paroxysms of undiluted worship, Harry reminded her to disillusion the Potter Crest proudly emblazoned on her apron, procured himself a cloak from his trunk, and led the way downstairs, out into the alley, and through the portal that led them to the intersection where Diagon Alley met Knockturn. He raised his hood so it shadowed his face, ensured Totsy was well, and took his first intentional steps into the relative unknown.

In truth, Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, and his half mad, panicked dash from Borgan and Bourke's the year prior wasn't much of a reference to go by, but truly, aside from the constant sight of hoods, the questionable merchandise, and the cold shadow of towering office buildings, Knockturn Alley was very much the same as it's more socially acceptable counterpartt.

It was rather anticlimactic, actually.

Around him, hooded strangers travelled to and fro, between dingy shops and morally questionable street vendors, who sold things like pig spleens and virgin's blood, and other such assorted oddities in the shadow of shops like 'The Looking Glass' and 'Holly's House of Herbs'. The shops didn't obviously display their wares, but seemed to have a steady flow of foot traffic besides.

A word of mouth kind of place, he supposed. '

Harry took in the sites with a curious eye, not far removed from Diagon Alley, but shadowed by the surrounding buildings, and chilly in the way places got when untouched by the sun. Pathways branched off from the main alley, led into a residential district, of sorts, but Harry opted to continue on along the main street, passed more shops with questionable products, past pubs and restaurants with interesting clientele, and past the night clubs and bars the old proprietor had told him about. He'd briefly contemplated entering some of the less morally suspect stores (Holly's House of Herbs came to mind), but he'd eventually thought better of it, and left that kind of exploration for another day.

Finally, Harry came to the end of the road, and was just about to return the way he'd come when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

It was young, perhaps his own age, and vaguely familiar the same way Lisa Turpin's was.

A classmate, then, and one he didn't interact with often. That didn't mean much, however, since Harry had essentially isolated himself between the school's resident 'know it all' and Ron, who was a thoughtless prat on a good day, and something worse on a bad one.

It wasn't Malfoy, at any rate.

"What do you want?"

A low and gravelly, indistinct murmur reached his ears and despite himself, Harry tensed. Totsy stiffened slightly behind him, and together, in silence, the pair waited, braced for anything.

"My grandfather would have your head." The voice was unsteady - _scared_ - and yet, he continued anyway. "Would you risk it, Greyback?"

Totsy made an indistinct noise of fear, clenched her fist in the material of his cloak, and stared at the mouth of the alley, entirely petrified. She recognised the name, it seemed, and she didn't like the sound of it.

"But the little Lordling would taste so sweet."

After that, Harry didn't much like it either, and without fail, his hero complex was triggered. He entered the side alley, ready for anything, and gained more than he'd bargained for.


	8. Chapter 8: The Hero Complex

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eight: The hero Complex**

_August 22nd _

It turned out his classmate, Greyback's would be pretty boy victim, or whatever, was a Slytherin in his year by the name of Theodore Nott. He was thin and reedy, with an unassuming, blend into the crowd kind of face, dark hair, dark eyes, a pale complexion and freckles on the bridge of his nose. Currently, his pale complexion was tinged an ashen grey, his eyes were wide and dilated, and his wand was out of sight. he was backed into the wall, and caged in by the towering _thing_ in front of him. The Slytherin couldn't escape, and Harry wondered, briefly, what would have happened to him if Harry hadn't been there.

He probably didn't want to know.

"What's this? A little hero?"

The _thing_, Greyback, looked particularly nauseating, or perhaps terrifying was a better description. It looked like a human who'd not gotten the message of evolution, caught somewhere between animal and man, with claws for fingernails, fangs for incisors, and lupine eyes almost yellow in the dim light of the alleyway. . His hair was matted and chaotic, and his scraggly beard was speckled grey and white and black, his skin riddled with scars, predominantly of claw and fingernail scratches, and even bite marks. His back was hunched, but he was scarily tall besides, and Harry wondered if this was one of the monsters under children's beds come to life.

It certainly seemed like it.

"Cor, what is that?" He asked himself, and Greyback's question went ignored.

It was disturbing how animalistic he appeared, like a predator who'd just been interrupted in the middle of his hunt. His yellow eyes gleamed with malicious intent, and Harry got the sudden impression that whoever this thing was, he could probably eat Harry and Nott for dinner, with room for dessert.

It was a discomforting revelation.

The Gryffindor had seen a lot of strange things since his return to magical Britain, and yet this threat seemed to trigger his baser instincts to _run the hell away_ in a way that the basilisk, that the acromnatula colony, that even _Voldemort_ had failed in accomplishing.

It was disconcerting, the bizarre impression of prey caught in a predator's sights, and Harry didn't like it in the slightest.

He looked away, to his quivering house elf, who stood firm in the face of a monster despite her fear, just because Harry himself was there. The loyalty baffled him.

"Totsy, do your worst," Harry instructed.

Totsy, who shivered violently as she did so, raised her hand to the thing still distracted by Harry's sudden appearance, and Harry watched as Greyback went flying. He hit the alley's back wall with an almighty crack, slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap and stayed there, unmoving.

Harry scanned the ground for his classmate's wand, found it on the other side of the alleyway, and approached the Slytherin with the handle pointed outwards. His own wand was out of sight, and as the taller boy accepted it with a nod of thanks, Harry removed his hood, eyed Greyback once again, and wondered who, or what, he was.

Not completely human, at the very least, but what else he was, was yet to be determined.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Nott nodded, "Thanks, Potter."

"No problem," Harry answered, "Totsy did all the work."

The elf in question was hidden behind Harry's legs again, still shivering, but she stuck her head out at the sound of her name, and Nott's bemused smile was brief. He thanked her though, without any hint of condescending, and Harry had to respect the Slytherin for that.

In truth, he didn't have an issue with the taller boy. Theo Nott stuck to himself, mostly, and never got involved with Malfoy's superiority complex. They'd never had a conversation in the two years they'd attended school together, but the Slytherin was polite, and it wasn't particularly a chore to reciprocate the courtesy. It was refreshing, rather, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a civilised conversation with a Slytherin.

Probably never.

"Who is he?" Harry queried.

Nott tilted his head, confused, but he answered regardless. "That's Fenrir Greyback. He's the reason for 80 per cent of all the bitten lycanthropes in the last 40 years."

Puzzled and bewildered, Harry asked, "What did he want with you?"

"

"He has a grudge against my dead father for whatever reason, and has vowed to take it out on the rest of my family. He caught me off guard."

Even as the Slytherin wore a chagrined expression on his face, presumably because he'd been caught while vulnerable, Harry's thoughts were on what his classmate had said. It certainly put things into perspective, and Harry had to sardonically wonder what other perceptions he'd have broken by September 1st.

He had thought Professor Snape's grudge he'd inherited from his father was bad, but when compared to that of a werewolf who liked infecting, and possibly _eating_ humans, Snape was a walk in the park. After all, what were a few house points compared to a lifetime bound to the cycle of the moon?

"Why hasn't he been arrested yet?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Because it's not actually illegal for a werewolf to bite people," Nott answered sardonically. "It would be denying their nature, otherwise, and certain parties are wary of being accused of double standards. There's a bounty on his head, though. Lot's of people want to see him dead."

"Can he scent us?" Harry queried.

"Yes."

Harry took a moment to ask Totsy to hide their scents, and requested, also, that she take care of Greyback, too. Afterwards, he donned his hood once again, and walked with Nott towards Diagon Alley. Harry watched the scenery as he passed Knockturn by, and as he did so, the silence between them was surprisingly comfortable. As they reached Fortescue's ice cream parlour, however,, Harry spoke. He wanted to keep an eye on the Slytherin, to make sure the bloke was alright the way he hadn't with Hermione after the troll, and Ginny after the Chamber.

It was the least he could do.

"What subjects are you doing this year?" He flicked off his hood and settled at his usual table, and after a moment's hesitation, Nott settled in the seat across from him. The Slytherin removed his own hood, and he seemed particularly pale in the bright light of Diagon Alley.

"Ancient Runes and Arithmency," answered Nott, "I'm interested in spell creation."

"I'm doing those too, but I'm more interested in the warding aspect," Harry admitted, "But spell creation sounds interesting, if complex."

"I'd have thought you'd go for the easier subjects," Nott admitted, "You don't seem interested in school."

"I was going to," Harry answered, sheepish smile on his face, "But I guess I had something of a reality check over the hols. Professor McGonagall already approved my transfer."

Over milkshakes and sundaes, the two unlikely companions chatted mindlessly about school, and their summer homework, and the classes they'd be introduced to that coming school year. Nott's hands stopped shaking halfway through, and it seemed the calmer he got, the more acerbic his wit became, and by the time Harry had finished his drink, Nott had become a casual acquaintance, if nothing else.

Harry had never really bought into the whole 'Slytherins are evil' mindset, but with the rivalry between their houses, and the perpetual pain in his arse that was Draco Malfoy, he'd never been particularly inclined to get to know any of them either. He wished he had sooner though, because Nott, who had told Harry to call him Theo, was hysterical, and he probably would have appreciated the bloke's sense of humour when the rest of the school was under the impression that Harry himself was the heir of Slytherin.

Harry could recall that Nott was one of the few lower years who remained neutral in that entire mess, but at the time, he'd been too upset at most everyone else's treatment of him to notice. There were others, too, a few more Slytherins, and Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, but the pariah treatment had narrowed his focus, and he'd not been able to see anything beyond his own hurt.

It was something he intended never to repeat again.

"What were you doing down Knockturn, anyway?" Theo queried, "Not a place I'd figure the Gryffindor Golden Boy would visit."

"Exploring," he answered, entirely unabashed. "I got lost down there last summer, got frightened out of my mind by this hag selling human fingers, thought I'd see what the place was all about."

Nott snorted at the mental picture, and laughed, before he queried, "And what do you think?"

Harry contemplated his answer. "It doesn't really live up to its reputation, Fenrir Greyback notwithstanding. I'm also not sure why I was so scared last summer. It's alright enough, I guess, but I didn't really see any shops that particularly appealed to me. That said, I don't know what half of them sold…"

"The herb house sells recreational drugs," Nott informed him, and Harry blinked slowly, bemused by the prospect, "There are a few werewolf shelters, some blood banks, most of them just junk shops. There are a few secondhand bookstores, a wand crafter, and that's not the half of it. Most of the shops are down the side streets, actually. I'll show you around sometime, if you like?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "Maybe not today though. Just in case Totsy wasn't able to get rid of Greyback."

Not grimaced at the thought, nodded his agreement, and checked his watch.

"I can't, anyway." He grimaced again, dropped a couple of sickles onto the table, and got to his feet with an awkward looking smile on his face. "I told my grandfather I'd be home by three, so I'd better go before he sends a search party." He shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do?' "We're going away until the 30th, so I suppose I'll catch you at school, yeah?" Harry nodded, and the Slytherin continued. "And thanks, again, for earlier. I owe you one."

Harry got to his feet, dropped his own silver coins onto the table, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jeans. "It's no worries, mate. I'll catch you at Hogwarts. Enjoy the rest of your hols."

As the Slytherin made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry returned to the Ugly Wench, made his way into his room, and flopped gracelessly onto his bed. Athena jumped onto his stomach, he scratched behind her ears, and silently marvelled over how his day had turned out. He'd not expected to run into a classmate down Knockturn Alley, let alone form a relatively casual friendship with him in the wake of liberating him from Fenrir Greyback's clutches. That was exactly what had happened, however, and Harry couldn't bring himself to oppose the change. He could use all the friends he could get, after all, because his future would be bleak, otherwise. He just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him in the arse later. But then, harry knew, he'd not seen the last of Fenrir Greyback, and _that_ monster was a dangerous enemy to have.

Harry smiled bitterly at the thought. After all, Fenrir Greyback was just another one in a long line of people who wanted him dead. That was okay though, because the next time he came calling, Harry would be ready for him.

Harry would make sure of it.


	9. Chapter 9: The Unfortunate Truth

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nine: The Unfortunate Truth **

August 23rd

"The Ancient and Noble House of Potter has a very proud history. Guinevere Peverell and Mathias Aurilius are only the beginning. Have you read the sections I recommended?"

The thirteen year old nodded his confirmation, and his thoughts wandered to the sections his grandfather spoke of. They were some of the notable figures in his family's ancestry, people who accomplished great things, or married powerful people, or persons who simply stood out because they'd led interesting, or unconventional, lives.

.

For instance, William Potter, who was a curse breaker in the 1700's, and Cassius Potter, who became Minister of Magic in 1842, and Edward Potter, who married Godric Gryffindor's only daughter, Freya in 1000 a.d.

There was too much history to cover in two weeks, but his grandfather had wanted Harry to know why they were such a powerful, and proud, family, and hence the recommended sections..

Charlus had explained that there were more notable figures in his ancestry,, and Harry had only touched the surface. He still had a lot more to learn, and not all of it was about his forebarer's accomplishments.

It was overwhelming, really, the depth of history he'd inherited. The expectations, the shoes of giants among men he had to fill, weighed heavy on his mind.

He wondered if he'd be able to rise to the occasion. He thought, also, of the age old adage 'be careful what you wish for'. Yet, Harry couldn't bring himself to regret the choices that had brought him here, to Redridge Hall, to the portrait of Charlus Potter, and to the legacy that had awaited him. He would never regret the opportunity to learn where he'd come from, learn where he belonged, to learn of the heritage he'd been denied for so long.

"What was that, Henry?"

"Yes," harry answered. he tried not to roll his eyes, "I did, Taid."

"Good," Charlus acknowledged, "Now, what subjects are you doing at school this year?"

Harry rattled off his list of electives, Charlus nodded his approval, and Harry balked at the hypocrisy. He said nothing though, because he doubted the painting of his grandfather would appreciate it, and instead, he wrote down a list of the supplemental text his grandfather recommended for his Saturday classes, sat back in his seat when he was done, and listened as Charlus retold stories of James, Henry, Callista and Celeste as children. They were stories of days when the Potter siblings had run wild and free, entirely heedless of the world, and of the terrible fate that would befall them.

In a lull between stories, however, Harry raised the question that had been on his mind since he'd learned of them, his paternal aunts and uncle.

"What happened to them?"

Charlus' expression turned sad, and so terribly wistful, and Harry regretted the words as soon as they'd been spoken. He didn't need to know, not really, but he wanted to, and so he didn't retract the question. Instead, he waited patiently, and Charlus did not disappoint.

"There was quite the age difference between my children," Charlus began, "James was born six years after Celeste, eight years after Callista, and ten years after Henry.. After he had graduated from Hogwarts in 1968, Henry decided that he'd join the Auror Corps, and it was the proudest day of my life…"

The recollection continued.

Henry trained under the mentorship of Alastor Moody, he became a certified auror in 1973, around the same time Voldemort began his rise to power, and he was outstanding. In June of 1980, however, after seven years of opposing them, he was targeted by Voldemort himself, duelled him for close to an hour, but eventually fell to a killing curse directly to the heart.

Charlus didn't explain about his aunts, and Harry didn't push the issue. Instead, he excused himself to visit the library.

It was an extraordinary sight, with a room that rose up all three storeys of the manor, chock full of books, and interspersed with comfortable sitting areas and the occasional study desk.

There was a lectern near the doorway ,though, on which was the library catalogue. He approached it with shuffling footsteps, ran a callused finger over the age worn leather, and opened it up to the first page.

When accomplished, he picked up the self-inking quill beside the ledger, and began to copy down all the titles his grandfather had listed. They appeared in a hovering pile beside the pedestal, Harry deposited them in his bag, and he quietly thanked the manor on his way out of the room, headed back to his grandfather's portrait. He'd learned that Redridge Hall was mildly sentient the same way Hogwarts was, brought to life by the magic that thrummed through every inch of the manor and grounds. It didn't matter that the building itself was only 250 years old, because the land had been in the family since the first Potter, and their legacy remained in generations of blood, sweat, and tears.

It was rather humbling, if Harry thought about it, but between everything else, he'd only done so briefly, and there was still so much for him to discover.

"Can you explain to me the purpose of the investment vault?" Harry requested.

"It's tradition," Charlus answered, "Every boy in our family, when he turns eleven, is given a hundred thousand galleons to learn how to invest wisely. You may ask for advice from anyone you trust, but every decision is yours to make, as are the successes or failures to follow."

No pressure then, he thought to himself sardonically, and wondered how badly he'd bugger this tradition up.

Charlus continued his explanation, mostly outlining the finer details, and Harry left some time later, overwhelmed and his thoughts a discombobulation of things, his uncle, his investment prospects, his Saturday classes.

It was a lot of information to absorb, and Harry sat outside of Florien Fortescue's, trying to make sense of it all, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Neville Longbottom beside his table, and Harry gave his housemate a smile.

The boy was slightly taller, and broader as well, but his smile was the same, even if the way he held himself was not. It appeared that his classmate had grown out of his shell somewhat, and Harry wondered briefly about what else had changed.

"Hello, Neville."

"Hi, Harry," Neville greeted, "How are you?"

"I'm well," Harry answered, "Would you like to sit?"

Neville acquiesced, and they made idle small talk for a time, but then Neville turned solemn, and Harry tensed, unsure of what he should expect.

"I have to tell you something, Harry."

"Alright," harry agreed, wary, "What is it?"

Neville frowned and looked around. "Do you mind if we go somewhere private?"

"Are you here with someone?"

"No," Neville answered, and clarified, "I was at the bank. I saw you as I was leaving."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, called Totsy to him, and the little elf was entirely too happy to transport Harry and Neville to the Mayfair house.

She'd not seemed particularly timid beforehand, but Totsy seemed to have had a confidence boost since their adventure down Knocktern Alley, and Harry supposed it had something to do with the fact that after she'd left he and Nott at Fortescue's, she'd returned to Greyback, popped him in front of a vampire named Gregorio Sanguini, and harassed the sorry bugger until he'd handed over the fifty thousand galleon bounty on Greyback's head.

As an irrelevant non-sequitur, that gold currently sat in a bottomless sack inside his trunk, and Harry was still not sure what he should do with it. He'd tried to let Totsy keep it, but the little elf wouldn't hear any of it, and Harry was smart enough to not argue with a stubborn female, house elf, witch or otherwise.

Neville looked around the sitting room curiously, but his gaze settled on the portrait over the mantle, and Harry's smile was sad.

"We're at the house my father grew up in," he explained, "The only person who knows I've been here is Justin Finch-Fletchly, and that's just because he's in his grandparents' house, next door. Did you want anything? A drink? Something to eat?"

"No thanks, Harry, can I sit?"

Harry nodded, and Neville settled himself in an armchair that faced the window. Harry sat across from him and for a time, they sat in silence. Harry let Neville collect his thoughts, and he lost himself in his own as the tawny haired boy did so, but then Neville cleared his throat, and Harry refocused himself.

"You've heard about Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, "He's all over the 'Prophet', and the muggle news too."

Neville hesitated, and harry was suddenly aware of a feeling of foreboding that had him braced for anything. He doubted he'd like what Neville had to say. His housemate had never steered him wrong, however, and he knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was, Harry needed to know it.

"Sirius Black is your godfather, Harry."

Harry reeled backwards, gobsmacked, and tried to wrap his head around the concept. Sirius Black, mass murderer, raving lunatic, Lord Voldemort's staunchest supporter, was his godfather?

It seemed unfathomable.

"Can you explain that, Neville?"

Neville proceeded to do so, with a voice that shook from anxiety, but with a resolve not to disappoint. Harry wasn't sure how he'd garnered such a loyalty from his fellow Gryffindor, but as he absorbed Neville's explanation, Harry supposed that he had other things to concern himself with.

"I only know all of this because my grandmother told me. She said some other things, implied that she wanted me to tell you, so here I am."

Harry nodded his understanding, and made a mental note to consider that comment later. It seemed he'd had more people in his corner than he'd realised, and neville's grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, was a useful resource, and an even more formidable friend. His grandfather spoke highly of her, and he'd most certainly not disregard what information she had to share.

"Sirius Black was best friends with your dad in Hogwarts.."

The explanation went on, and Harry listened in solemn silence, all the answers to the questions that had plagued him for years provided by his quietest roommate. His family had been targeted by Voldemort, they'd gone into hiding, their location had been given to Voldemort by Sirius Black, whom, shortly after Halloween, killed twelve muggles and a wizard, who'd spent the last twelve years in Azkaban and, finally, who was now determined to hunt Harry down to avenge his fallen lord.

Or so it was understood.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

Harry strained a smile that he didn't feel. "I'm glad I found out at all. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it, Neville."

Neville's responding smile was sad, but genuine. "What are friends for?"

Neville left then, with an explanation that his grandmother had expected him home some time ago. Totsy transported him from the Mayfair house, and Harry slumped back in his armchair, indisputably numb, and unsure of where he should go, or what he should do, if anything. All he'd learned that day whirled around his head, a disorganised maelstrom, and he closed his eyes to the world, certain he couldn't handle anymore bombshells that day. It was there that he fell asleep, and when he woke, the world seemed a little bit less chaotic, and Harry felt as though he had acquired a small semblance of control.

Yet two more questions still remained, and Harry had the indisputable feeling that they would for some time. Why had Voldemort targeted his family, and why had Sirius Black betrayed them?


	10. Chapter 10: The Last Day of Summer

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note:** A time skip in this chapter.

**Chapter Ten: The Last Day of Summer**

_August 31st_

Before Harry knew it, a week had flown by. he'd spent his time alternating between conversations with the portrait of his grandfather, studying the supply of textbooks he'd accumulated since he'd left Privet Drive, listening to Herbert - the Flourish and Blot's store clerk - reminisce about his glory days, and exchanging letters between himself and Justin, Neville or Theo.

The morning before he was scheduled to return to Hogwarts, Harry was settled at Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlour, the book about his family's history in front of him, but his mind elsewhere, on the school year set to start the following day, on the friends he'd hardly heard from all summer, on the possibility of another dangerous year ahead of him. He wanted to believe that a peaceful year was all that awaited him, but the last two years spoke for themselves, and Harry had never been the particularly optimistic sort.

He didn't think he ever had been.

Besides, it was already up for a hectic start, what with his escape from Privet Drive, all that he'd learned since, and the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban prison. Moreover, if Neville was right, and Sirius Black was truly out to get him, then it was only doomed to get worse.

Distracted from his reverie by the sound of his name, Harry glanced around the alley, and caught sight of Hermione and Ron. They were headed towards him from the Leaky Cauldron's end of Diagon Alley, and as they approached, Harry took stock of their appearance with a curious eye.

France and Egypt, respectively, had treated them well. He'd not received many letters from either of his friends, just as they'd not received many letters from Harry himself, but he couldn't refute what he could see with his own eyes..

Ron had sprouted over the holidays, tall and gangly, with freckles that covered his face and arms like powdered cheese. His lips were pulled into an awkward smile, and in his hands, he held Scabbers, who looked like he'd seen better days.

Beside Ron, Hermione's face was thinner, her hair mildly more controlled. She filled out her shirt slightly more prominently than she had at the end of term, and she'd perhaps grown an inch or so, but otherwise, she looked unchanged. It seemed strange, as though there should have been more physical signs of growth, but then again, perhaps Harry was the only one who'd really changed at all.

He wondered what they thought about his own physical transformation, wondered if they noticed it at all, but he wasn't about to ask them, and he doubted they'd comment. Such observations were left for elderly relatives and middle aged housewives, if Harry understood correctly, and his friends were neither.

When they reached him, Harry was engulfed in a bruising hug from Hermione, who'd begun chattering a mile a minute as soon as she'd gotten within range of him, and seemed not at all inclined to stop. He couldn't make sense of what she was saying, but he met Ron's gaze over his shoulder, they shared a commiserating roll of the eyes, and the long-suffering smiles of those used to their friend's ways.

For a moment, Harry almost believed that nothing had changed at all.

And then the moment passed.

"Where have you been?" Hermione questioned once she'd released him, "The headmaster had no idea where you were, you know. He was worried."

He wondered what the bloody hell Dumbledore was doing looking for him during the summer holidays, but Harry didn't ask. He wasn't sure he'd like the answer, but more to the point, he doubted Ron or Hermione would _have_ the explanation he wanted. Instead, he offered up an answer to Hermione's question, and tried not to wonder about Dumbledore's motivations.

"Here, mostly," Harry replied, and he gestured to the bustling alley around them, "Westminster, a little bit, too. And I doubt Dumbledore was that worried, since he didn't try to contact me."

"What were you doing _there_?" Hermione queried, perplexed, as Ron adopted an expression of confusion.

Presumably, he'd never heard of the place. It was strictly non-magical, after all, and none of his children had inherited Arthur Weasley's enthusiasm for all things muggle. In saying that, Harry wasn't particularly surprised by Ron's confusion. Harry wondered what that said about himself, if anything.

"And _of course_ he was worried. He didn't know where you were."

Harry rolled his eyes, and changed the subject. He wasn't interested in getting involved in an argument with Hermione, about Dumbledore no less. Their opinions of authority figures had always clashed, and their arguments in the past regarding the matter had always been explosive. He doubted it would ever change, because Hermione's faith in authority was unwavering, and Harry had never had any faith to begin with.

A byproduct of his time on Privet Drive, of course.

"What are you doing here?"

"School supplies," Ron answered with all of the enthusiasm of a Potions exam, "And plus, I want to stop by the Magical Menagerie. Scabbers is sick."

Ron held up his rat, whom indeed, looked ready to keel over. He had bald patches, and seemed to have lost weight, and Harry fleetingly wondered if it had come time for the rodent's next great adventure.

Harry had enough sense not to ask. Ron was ridiculously protective over the animal, regardless of what he usually said about the thing, and Ron in a sulk wasn't a pretty sight. Instead, he simply nodded his acknowledgement, settled back in his chair, and picked up his book to continue reading. The conversation continued, however, and Harry was polite enough to put the book down, closed in his lap, and the page marked with a clean serviette.

"Mum and Dad also gave me money to buy a pet," Hermione contributed, "So I want to go to the Menagerie as well."

"Do you know what you want?" Harry queried, and his general apathy was curious. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd not seen neither of his friends since June, and their letters had been few and far between, but Harry wasn't particularly inclined to dwell on the matter.

"Either a cat or an owl. I've not quite decided yet. Ron says I should get an owl. What do you think?"

"Owls are good," Harry acknowledged, and the additional smile was all cheek, "But then again, I suppose I'm rather biased."

Harry thought about Athena, the old grey tabby who'd more or less adopted him, and supposed that cats were good too. They beat miniature bulldogs, anyway, and the phantom pain of Ripper biting into his ankle reminded him why he'd never like dogs that failed to reach the height of his knees.

Conversation fell flat after that, and as Hermione and Ron looked between themselves, uncertain and awkward, Harry contemplated the book in his lap. It was truly a heavy monstrosity, some thousand pages thick, bound in maroon leather, the title stylised in gold leaf calligraphy. He'd gotten used to its weight though, a comfort that spoke of family, and home, and of the blood that ran through his veins. It was protected by the family magic he still couldn't fathom, but it made him feel loved, and Harry coveted it.

It was something he'd not be so easily parted with.

"Well, we should head off to the Menagerie now," Hermione announced, "Before the Alley gets crowded."

"See you guys later, then," Harry answered, and Hermione stared at him, unsure of whether or not she should be irritated, or surprised. Beside her, Ron smothered a chuckle.

"You're coming with us, Harry."

Harry looked up from the book he'd reopened, and frowned at the girl. "What for? _I_ don't need to go to the Menagerie."

Hermione frowned, unimpressed. "Because we haven't seen you since June."

"Whatever, hermione," Harry scoffed, "That's poor reasoning, given that we'll be living in the same tower for the next four months."

At the gobsmacked expression on her face, Ron laughed outright, lightly circled her wrist with his hand, and tugged her away to the Menagerie with a wave over his shoulder. Harry watched them leave, sighed to himself, and returned to the book he'd neglected most of the morning.

Harry stared at the pages in front of him, but the words had blurred together, and his mind had wandered again, to the encounter with his two friends just passed, to the communications he shared with Justin, Neville and Theo, to Hogwarts, and the divisions therein.

It seemed like so much had changed in so little time, or as considered earlier, perhaps it was Harry himself who'd changed so drastically. Whatever it was, he couldn't associate the boy he'd been to the person he'd become, and he couldn't correlate Hermione and Ron either. They didn't fit as the best friends of the person he was now, and he no longer needed them as he once had.

It was a bittersweet epiphany, and Harry was unsure what he should do with it. They were still his friends, of course, and Harry would always hold a certain fondness for the pair of them. In saying that, he wasn't that 11 year old boy way in over his head, and he no longer needed them to keep out the rest of the world.

Brought from his thoughts, again, by the sound of his name, Harry glanced up, and Fred and George smiled at him, bright and carefree, like wild things, or mischief makers. They settled in the seats Ron and Hermione had occupied previously, and made a grand show of congratulating him for the escape from Privet Drive.

"We commend you," Fred declared.

"Two weeks, and the authorities _still_ haven't found you," George added.

"I wasn't aware they wanted to," Harry answered mildly, "And it's not as though I made much effort of hiding to begin with."

"How'd you do it?" George queried. Fred leant in too, eager for his answer.

"Ah, but a wizard never reveals his tricks," Harry jested, and the twins rolled their eyes, unimpressed.

Even the gesture was identical, and Harry spared a moment to marvel.

Fred and George were like a single entity that had been split in the womb. It was no wonder so many people struggled to tell them apart. Harry only could because he'd picked up that Fred was right hand dominant, and George was the opposite, left handed, and as far as Harry knew, he was one of the few individuals who had.

It wasn't a particularly long list, but neither was it short. The twins knew a lot of people though, and Fred had once quietly confided to Harry that the twins sometimes hated the singular, co-dependent identity they'd unwittingly created.

"Give a mate a bone, Harry," Fred entreated.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he relented. He explained that in the last two years, he'd observed that the common wizard took things at face value, so he'd covered up his fringe, he'd provided a fake name, and he'd changed his clothes. Ever since, most everyone hadn't even noticed the nameless, faceless orphan, and Harry had been able to roam as he pleased.

It had been foolproof.

"It's positively genius," George commended, "Kudos, mate."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement of the praise, and chatted idly with the twins until Hermione and Ron returned. They were bickering, Ron with a protective hold on Scabbers, and Hermione with an orange, Garfield looking thing that had eyes only for the sickly rat. It seemed Ron took offence to the predator/prey cat/rat notion, and Hermione seemed to be of the opinion that she couldn't control her cat's instincts. It would make for an explosive term, and Harry sighed to himself at the thought. He just hoped that they didn't feel inclined to drag _him_ into the argument too, because disregarding the fact that he couldn't really care less, he had other priorities these days, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't have the time to mediate their arguments on top of everything else.

He supposed he would find out in the days and weeks to come, but until then, Harry intended to luxuriate in his last hours of summer.


	11. Chapter 11: The Hogwarts Express

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eleven: The Hogwarts Express**

_September 1st_

The day before had ended with dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. It had started with Harry smothered in a hug by mrs Weasley, but otherwise, it had been fun, and pleasant. The Weasleys were always a riot, after all.

When he'd not been interrogated on the absence of his glasses by Hermione, Harry had wound up in conversation with Percy about the Saturday classes. Apparently the older boy had taken them since his own third year, and he had a lot to say regarding the matter.

Harry had also engaged in conversation with the twins, and Ron, and even Ginny briefly. It had focused predominantly on quidditch, with a side of bemoaning summer's end, but All in all, Harry had enjoyed himself, and he thought it had been a pleasant way to end his holidays.

Eventually though, mrs Weasley had begun to usher them all to bed, and Harry made his escape before the woman could smother him into staying at the leaky Cauldron too. She wasn't his mother, and bless her heart, he didn't need, nor want, a substitute.

Lily Potter, who'd given up her life for him, had been more than mother enough.

When he woke the next morning, it was to a grey sky, to the promise of a torrential downpour in the near future, and to Totsy nearly in tears. She had packed his trunk meticulously, had laid out a wizard and muggle acceptable outfit of charcoal trousers, lofers, and a button down shirt, had packed Athena in her cage, and had sent Hedwig on her way. It was only eight o'clock, and all that was left for Harry to do was to eat some breakfast, to check out, and to make his way to Kings Cross Station before the Hogwarts Express departed - preferably before he ran the risk of missing it.

_That_ ritual had gotten old fast.

"Are you sure you don't want to keep Athena with you?" Harry asked, and Totsy nodded.

"Pets is being companions for witches and wizards," she insisted, "Not for house elves."

"Then please visit Redridge Hall. I don't want you to be all alone at the Mayfair House."

Totsy conceded, Harry smiled, and he focused on the breakfast she had prepared him. Afterwards though, when it came time for harry to leave, he bent to give his small companion a hug, promised that he'd see her during the winter holidays, and descended the stairs into the common area with his trunk trotting along behind him and his satchel slung across his chest.

The old bartender, who's name he still didn't know, grunted at him as Harry approached, but he paid the man's sour expression no heed. Instead, he handed over his key, and the fee he'd accrued during his stay, thanked the man for his generous hospitality, and exited onto the muggle street he'd arrived on two weeks earlier.

Beside him, his trunk morphed into a muggle suitcase, Harry took hold of the handle with his free hand, and made his way to the underground. He boarded the appropriate train that would take him to Kings Cross, and from there, he navigated his way through the throngs of businessmen, school children, church goers and other such Londoners until he reached the appropriate platform, crossed through the magical barrier, and smiled to himself at the sight of the Hogwarts Express, and the bustling platform as well.

unsurprisingly, the scarlet steam engine was a sight to behold, an aspect of history he couldn't get over for the life of him, and he wondered idly how old it was. Had they procured it during the industrial revolution, or had it been acquired later?

Hermione would probably know, actually, and for a brief, wild moment, Harry considered asking her.

Then he remembered what Hermione was like with regards to knowledge, and he thought better of it. He didn't want to be stuck reading 'Hogwarts, A History', after all.

Next to him his trunk morphed to it's original form, and Athena yowled to be released from her temporary prison. Thus, without delay, Harry boarded the train and sought out an empty compartment near the back. Once the door was securely closed, he released her, and was entirely unsurprised when she settled herself in the space beside him, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

As Harry scratched behind Athena's ears, Harry cast his gaze outside his compartment window, and took sight of the families there, gathered to see their loved ones off to school. He was struck by a pang of loneliness, but the feeling faded, and Harry withdrew his family's history book to distract himself.

It was as he read about Elric Potter, an 18th century explorer, that Harry was disturbed by a knock at his compartment door. He closed his book and glanced up to see who'd disturbed his solitude, and Harry smiled, pleased to catch sight of Neville on the other side of the sliding glass. He nodded for his housemate to enter, the timid boy did so, and Neville settled across from him, awkwardly shuffling with his satchel and Trevor, the toad.

The pair exchanged idle small talk for a time, the platform grew more and more crowded, and Harry's book was carefully stowed away in his satchel, exchanged for more childish pursuits, like a game of exploding snap, and braving the bag of Berty Bott's that Neville had provided.

"I wonder what the new Defence Professor will be like," Neville mused.

"Anything's better than Lockehart," Harry answered, and Neville grimaced his agreement.

No doubt, the brown haired Gryffindor could remember quite clearly their disastrous first lesson with the man, memorable as it happened to be, and Harry idly wondered how neville had made it down from the chandelier he'd been strung up on.

Conversation turned to other things, like the summer, and the things Harry had learned therein. It had been a hectic two weeks, and there were times Harry was uncertain of whether or not he could comprehend it all, but he'd made it to September 1st, and he had another three and a half months before his grandfather would teach him more.

"Your not wearing your heir's ring," Neville observed some time later, as the clock neared eleven, and as the train filled up with his fellow classmates.

"Taid said that he doesn't want me to until I'm ready to handle all of the responsibilities of the heir apparent," Harry answered, and a part of him still couldn't believe he was talking about nobility, and familial duties, when only a fortnight ago, he'd been an orphan with very little to his name. "Since there's no Lord Potter at the moment, and the Wizengamot seat remains empty, it would mean I'd take up all the political responsibilities, and honestly, I still feel like this is all just one weird dream."

"Have you started studying 'Nature's nobility'?" Neville queried, a sardonic smile on his face.

"No, but my Taid did make sure it was in my trunk. Why?"

"It's ridiculous, really, but it has a lot of worthwhile information about the pureblood families. For instance, even though Draco Malfoy acts all trumped up on his own superiority, he's descended from Norman peasants, and aside from the money he and his grandfather have acquired, they have no social standing in magical Britain whatsoever."

Harry snorted, and laughed, and wondered briefly why Slytherin House hadn't yet strung him up by his toenails. All the same, he made a mental note to start reading up on the families he'd been told about by his grandfather, and by Theo and Neville himself, because he thought it would do him well to know general information about his peers.

Before their conversation could continue though, their compartment door was slid open, and Hermione stood there, Ron by her side, and an affronted frown on her face.

"Harry, why didn't you travel with us to the station?"

"Because I left early," he answered simply, and Hermione frowned further.

"That was mighty irresponsible of you, Harry, going off on your own."

"If you think arriving in time to get a decent compartment is irresponsible, than sure."

Unable to think up a retort to that, Hermione sat down beside the door in a huff, Ron shuffled to the seat beside Neville, and Athena hissed, her gaze on Scabbers. Harry scratched behind her ears, she settled, and the silence between the four was palpable.

Overhead, the train whistled, smoke billowed onto the platform, and the train began to chug along slowly, it's speed picked up, and before long, King's Cross station was out of sight, London was passing them by, and another summer had been left behind.

It began to rain, and fat, heavy raindrops splashed against the windows. The rain fell as though all the heavens had been opened, a summer time downpour that turned the sky dark, and turned roads to rivers.

He was almost captivated.

"If this weather keeps up, we'll be swimming to Hogwarts." Neville grimaced at the thought, and Harry was inclined to agree.

"At least my trunk's water proof, then," Harry sighed, and Neville chuckled, but conversation fell flat shortly thereafter, and the quartet turned to their own devices to pass the time.

At least until the train began to slow, and eventually stop.

Harry glanced out his window to the Scottish countryside beyond, blanketed in a mass of heavy storm clouds, and a torrential downpour the likes of which he had never seen. The windows had fogged over some time ago, but as he watched, frost seemed to creep in around the edges, the temperature dropped, and he stupidly wondered if it was about to snow.

"What's going on?" Ron queried, and in the dim candlelight, Harry thought he could see the redhead shivering. As he watched, however, the candles spluttered out, the cold grew more pronounced, and Harry thought he heard someone scream.

"It's c-cold," Hermione murmured, and her teeth chattered.

Harry pulled his wand from the holster he'd bought, cast a 'lumos', and in the dim light of his wand, his three companions looked back at him, their eyes bright, uncertain and concerned - perhaps even scared.

Beside him, Athena yowled, burrowed against his side, and Harry felt her shiver.

Harry ended his spell, wiped a hand over the fog covered glass, and squinted into the gloom. The clouds smothered any sunlight brave enough to filter through them, but he could just barely make out the movements of tall strangers in the dark.

"There seem to be… people getting on?" He looked at his friends, bewildered. "Is there a new stop I didn't know about?"

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Hermione chastised, the effect dampened by the fact that her teeth still chattered, "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Do you have any other ideas, Hermione?" harry retorted, "Because I'd love to hear them."

He raised his wand to the door, cast a locking spell at the glass, and watched as it glowed blue briefly. Then he turned his wand on himself, cast a warming charm, and settled back to wait.

And as he did so, he thought that, once again, he'd heard someone scream.


	12. Chapter 12: The Dementor Discussion

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twelve: The Dementor Discussion**

_September 1st - 2nd_

"What were you saying about swimming to Hogwarts?" harry asked wryly.

Neville grimaced. "Of all the predictions…""

They chuckled mirthlessly.

Harry and Neville were stood on the solitary platform that made up Hogsmeade Station, their attention on the mudslide the road had become. The wheels on the horseless carriages were a lost cause, and most of the students had returned to the safety within the train. He didn't blame them. The wind shrieked like ghouls in the night, and even beneath his layers of clothes, the cold bit into his skin like an onslaught of unrelenting needles. .

The exception, not including Harry and Neville, was 12 of the 24 prefects, the two head students, and the man whom, introduced as Professor Lupin, was their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

The twelve other prefects were assigned the duty of crowd control inside the train, Hagrid had taken off with the first years some time ago, the train staff had left for their own houses, and Harry had spent the remaining time on the platform, his gaze on the rain.

That said, there was not much else to see. Night had fallen, and besides that, the rain was so torrential, it would have probably been impossible to see his hand in front of his face were it not for the train lights.

""This is just smashing," Draco Malfoy sniffed from behind them, "Wait until my father hears about this."

"I didn't know Mr Malfoy could control the weather, Draco," Harry returned, and Neville bit down on his knuckles to smother his laugh. His shaking shoulders, however, were undeniable. "But by all means, inform your father. Maybe he can get us to school before sunrise. That is, of course, if your illustrious owl can brave _this_ weather."

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Professor Lupin appeared then, looked reproachfully between the two, and queried, "Is now really the time, gentlemen? I'm sure you've both missed each other dearly throughout the summer, but I guarantee, you have the next four months to exacerbate the house rivalry to your heart's content, and I'd rather not deduct points before the sorting has even begun."

Malfoy sniffed haughtily and stalked back to the train, Neville bent in half, laughing soundlessly, and Harry gave their professor an unabashed grin, but he sobered quickly.

"I was wondering, Professor, do you know if Hogwarts has house elves?"

Lupin looked bemused, but he nodded. "A hundred, I believe."

"They could transport us to Hogwarts," Harry proposed, and the man looked enlightened. He excused himself briefly, and Harry watched him conjure something silver, almost bestial, but it was too quick for Harry to discern. Almost in the blink of an eye, it had disappeared into the black of night.

"What was that?" He queried, and Lupin smiled patiently.

"It's a patronus, mr Potter," he answered, "Generally used to ward off dementors and their side effects, but also a nifty tool to pass along messages. That is, of course, provided you know how to use them."

"They're supposed to be difficult to conjure, aren't they?" Neville enquired, "My Gran says that barely half the Auror Corps can cast a mist, never mind corporeal form."

"The Dowager Lady Longbottom is quite correct," Lupin confirmed, "But after the war, there was very little to be happy about, Lord Voldemort's demise notwithstanding, of course. In fact, that's the first time I've been able to cast one corporeally since - well - I suppose that's a story for another day."

Lupin smiled at them, and the expression was so painfully sad, Harry had to wonder what sorrows lingered in his past. He didn't ask though, because he'd learned tact in the last two years, and it was none of his business besides. Now wouldn't be the time anyway, and so instead, he pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head, shoved his hands into his robe's opposing sleeves, and mentally thanked Totsy for the water resistant charms she'd imbued into all of his luggage.

A few moments later, a horde of house elves popped onto the station, clad in tea towel togas and the like, and Professor Lupin raised his wand to his throat. The man incanted nothing, but when he spoke, his voice was amplified. Harry wondered, snarky, if Glasgow had heard him yet.

His spell did the job though, and the twelve Gryffindor second years shuffled out of the train, heads ducked downwards in a vein attempt to avoid the rain. Among them, Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevy, Harry watched as they came to a stop in front of the professor, who gave them each an apologetic smile. He watched on, bemused, as two of the girls swooned.

Blimey, they were weird.

"You'll be transported to Hogwarts, two at a time, by the house elves. Just hold your hands out, and you'll be warm and dry in only a moment."

Such was the pattern, Harry and Neville were in the Hogwarts entrance hall less than ten minutes later. They were surrounded by their fellow third year housemates, most of whom Harry hadn't yet seen. Dean had sprouted over the holidays, Fay Dunbar had cut her hair, Seamus' shoulders were wider than ever. Harry's own changes fit right in.

Unlike them, however, he wasn't shivering. His jumper, blazer, robe and cloak were somewhat overkill in the dawn of September, but it was still cold, and Harry couldn't bring himself to care about social conventions. Particularly when there was a torrential downpour outside.

After a brief head count by professor McGonagall, they were gestured into the Great Hall. There, the ten third years settled at their house table and proceeded to wile away the time with conversation between themselves.

"Professor Lupin seems an alright bloke," Neville observed. "Better than Lockhart, anyway."

Harry hummed his acknowledgement. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"You don't have an opinion?" Neville queried.

"I don't want to make assumptions," Harry corrected, "I'll wait until classes."

Neville shrugged his concession, glanced up at the enchanted ceiling and commented, "I'm glad I'm not a first year."

Harry agreed, but before he could say as much, he and Neville were drawn into a conversation with their roommates about the matter of their bathroom schedule. Once Seamus had established that closed bed hangings meant 'do not disturb', and Dean himself had gone silent because he'd laughed himself breathless, Harry turned to the front of the hall and silently hoped that such a conversation would never be repeated.

Ever.

Up at the staff table, he found that Professor Kettleburn was nowhere in sight. Neither was Professor Lupin - who was likely still ensuring that the upper years made it to the castle. Also absent were Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, likely overseeing the arrival of the first years.

"You'd think they'd have contingency plans for bad weather," Harry mused. He wondered if such delays were a frequent occurrence. neville shrugged cluelessly. ."

All the while, Herbert's words echoed in his ear and Harry couldn't forget them if he'd tried.

_Hogwarts hasn't been considered the best school of magic in decades_

"That's the Slytherin seventh years," Neville observed, "First years should be sorted soon."

True to his word, the first years were shepherded in, the Sorting Hat sang it's song, the 60 students were sorted, and the feast was served without ado. Dinner was had, dessert followed, and after Dumbledore's speech, they were dismissed to their dormitories, and the beds that awaited them there.

"What do you think about this dementor business?" Seamus queried.

"Gran says they're being used because Fudge doesn't want to pay his workers overtime," Neville commented glibly, and Harry thought that the Dowager Lady Longbottom was quite the character.

"Is it still considered a manhunt if the hunters aren't actually men?" Dean pondered. He was summarily ignored.

"I read up on them when I learned that the Ministry of Magic was employing them to find Black," Harry contributed, "If they're as ghastly as I think they are, it's rather dumb to put them around a school. I have to question the judgement of the authorities, really. I mean, they came on the train, didn't they?"

"Yes," Seamus confirmed, "Nearly kissed someone, too. If Professor Lupin hadn't been there…"

They each shivered at the possibilities, and the rest of the walk was spent in a sombre, thoughtful silence. As they continued on, Harry decided that he wanted to learn the Patronus Charm.

He never wanted to be defenceless again.

Gryffindor Tower hadn't changed since June, and Harry found his way into his dormitory without incident. Athena was curled up at the edge of his bed, and he greeted her with a scratch behind her velvet ears, she purred her contentment, and Harry marvelled over how fond he'd grown of the old girl.

"They've put in shelves over our desks," Seamus observed. "Bugger, but I can't put up my Holyhead poster anymore."

"Probably to encourage you to study some more," Dean quipped.

Seamus laughed flatly, and squinted at his friend. "You're a funny bastard, Thomas."

True to Seamus' word, three shelves were set into the wall over their desks, and Harry took the opportunity to fill them with his standardised textbooks, his study journals, and the unused copies that would become his notebooks for class. He felt oddly like an overachiever, but he shook off the insecurity, because the only opinion that mattered was his own. He'd promised himself in June that he'd be the best wizard he could be, if for nothing else, than to be prepared for Voldemort.

Nothing was going to stop him: not his friends, not his teachers, and most definitely not the peer pressure that surrounded him all over Hogwarts.

Harry wouldn't let it.

Ron, who'd been curiously scanning Harry's textbooks, enquired, "Since when were you doing Runes and Arithmency? I thought you'd chosen Divination and Creatures."

"I changed my electives during the hols," Harry answered, "I figure spell crafting and warding would be more useful than reading tea leaves."

After a moment's consideration, the redhead shrugged. "Your loss, mate."

Unsure of how and why Ron came to that conclusion, and not really interested in finding out the details, Harry shrugged in return, proceeded to finish unpacking, and prepared for bed. Seamus had already collapsed over his covers, and Neville had followed suit shortly thereafter. As Harry brushed his teeth, he wondered about dental hygiene in the magical world.

"Do you reckon there's a spell?" Harry mused, and Dean shrugged cluelessly.

"I guess so. I've never seen any of them brush their teeth."

"Pray there's a spell then."

Dean nodded his agreement.

After that, the Potter scion dropped the issue, bade his fellow muggle raised companion a good night, and shuffled back to the dormitory. He clambered into bed, set his alarm, and stared at the ceiling until, finally, he fell asleep.

He dreamt of red like the sunset, a scream, and an unearthly flash of green, and when Harry woke, he was breathless, his heart raced, and he decided that dementors were the worst monsters imaginable. But then Harry collected himself, pushed the memory to the back of his mind, and prepared for his day.

Later, he would think about the nightmare that the dementors dredged up, and he would grieve that it was the only memory of his parents he would ever have. Then he would store it away in the back of his mind again, and he would never, ever tell a soul.


	13. Chapter 13: The First Day

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Thirteen: The First Day **

_September 2nd Cont._

After Dobby had somehow framed him for underage magic use, Harry, indignant over the absolute lack of justice, had done an exceeding amount of research about underage magic laws, underage magic in general, and the protections the law provided.

According to Harry's research, it was generally understood that by the age of thirteen, most witches and wizards had control over their magic and it's output. In saying that, it was also not unheard of that accidental magic could still occur. Apparently, more magic meant more to be contained, and although it sort of made sense in theory, he didn't like it.

It was embarrassing, like a taint on his own ideals. Therefore, the weakness grated on him and Harry couldn't help but brood over it. He knew, realistically, his reaction was irrational, and perhaps he should have just been chuffed by the fact he was relatively more powerful than the average wizard his age, but Harry had never wanted to stand out.

He'd always just wanted to be normal.

That was why, when Ron enquired as to the reason why he'd left Privet Drive, he lied.

Mostly.

"I got tired of hearing my relatives badmouth my parents, the disrespectful sods," Harry answered bitterly, and a swell of anger surged to life inside him. He was reminded of the words spoken by the ignorant, pretentious wankers he called family and unconsciously, his expression mirrored his mood. His gaze darkened, a scowl pulled at his lips, and Harry clenched his fork and knife in white knuckled fists.

One day, karma would up and bite the Dursleys in the arse, and Harry would sit back and laugh.

"Gits," Ron acknowledged before he returned to inhaling his breakfast. It was the only reason he'd been willing to get out of bed that morning, though that was nothing new. The first day of term was always hellish.

Harry took a moment to calm himself and returned to his own breakfast. Around him, conversations continued uninterrupted. Seamus and Dean were in the midst of their usual football versus quidditch debate, Lavender and Parvati were occupied with the newest gossip to make the Hogwarts grapevine, Fay and Holly were suffering through one of Hermione's longwinded rambles,and Neville was silent, generally an unintelligible corpse until his second cup of tea.

Harry knew this closeness between the ten Gryffindors would fade. The novelty of a new school year would pass and inevitably, they'd divide into their own little groups. He wondered where he'd be then, _who_ he'd be, and as Professor McGonagall came to a stop behind Harry himself, he came to the conclusion that no matter what, he would not be the same boy he'd been in years past, when he had worn his ignorance like a badge of honour, when Ron and Hermione were the only friends he had, and when the world was made up of only Hogwarts, and nothing more.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione greeted, and the rest of them rolled their eyes, too used to the brunette's teacher's pet tendencies to say a word.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall returned, "And to the rest of you as well."

Varied responses were offered to their head of house, timetables were distributed, and Professor McGonagall continued on to the fourth years without ado. Harry examined his timetable and the shear amount of work he'd have was plainly intimidating. Six full days of classes, plus quidditch training, Sundays off, and the four Saturdays allocated to Gryffindor quidditch games. He wondered why that had been permitted, but he supposed the faculty recognised the need to burn off steam before one burned out. He wasn't going to question it.

"Merlin, it looks painful," Neville observed. Harry glimpsed at his friend's timetable. It was much like his own, though with the exception of Care of Magical Creatures in place of Arithmency.

"Bet you a galleon we'll be up to our armpits in homework by Sunday," Harry offered.

"I don't take sucker's bets," Neville answered mildly. They shared commiserating grins.

With a sticking charm, Harry deposited his timetable on the internal cover of his student planner, dropped it into his satchel, and excused himself to retrieve the appropriate books for his morning classes. He'd finished his breakfast, Fay and Holly joined him, and they returned to Gryffindor Tower in an easy, companionable silence.

-!- -#-

The Hufflepuffs were already outside of the greenhouses when Harry arrived. He nodded in acknowledgement of Justin's presence, gave him a friendly smile, ignored the rest, and turned to Dean and Seamus. They were currently in the midst of an enthusiastic conversation about a football game for charity they'd both seen over the summer. Harry had listened to it over the battered radio he'd smuggled into his room at Privet Drive, but he opted not to contribute to the conversation and instead simply listened to his dorm mates, quietly content to be back among friends.

"Susan Bones is watching you," Neville informed him, "She looks like she's about to cry."

Harry grimaced, avoided the reflex to look, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer. He'd slung his robe over his satchel, had foregone his hat and cloak completely, and left his shirt untucked from his trousers. Modifications to the uniform were more or less standard by the time winter of second year rolled around, and it was apparent that the only one who'd not taken up the trend was Hermione.

No surprise there, he supposed, though it appeared she'd at least foregone the cloak and hat, which weren't actually mandatory. He wondered if Hermione would ever want to fit in with her peers. As things were, she stood out in the worst ways. He wondered if she realised it.

"That's not my problem, Neville," Harry answered, "Maybe it will teach her not to make assumptions on hearsay. I expected better of her, to be honest. She disappointed me last year. I mean, she wasn't the only one, but I figured she'd known me better than that."

In truth, he'd not spent much time with Susan outside of classes. They'd sat together in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classes though, and he'd considered Susan a friend. Not a particularly close one, but a friend nevertheless.

"I think she disappointed _herself_," Neville observed, but Professor Sprout arrived and the subject was dropped.

Herbology came and went, and afterwards, Harry made his way back to the castle with Neville, Ron and Hermione.

The latter two were occupied with the topic of Crookshanks and Scabbers, predictably. Their faces were flushed and their voices were growing progressively louder, but neither Harry nor Neville made any move to shut them up. They'd learned in first year that it was safest - for all involved - if they just let the storm pass them by.

"Harry!"

At the sound of her voice, Harry turned and arched a dark eyebrow at the sight of Susan Bones approaching him. She was very pretty, he noted again, with the lanky limbs of adolescents everywhere and a nervous smile to match her feelings.

"Miss Bones," he greeted cordially, and she flinched at the implications, "May I help you?"

"Can we talk?" She requested. Her gaze flicked to Neville, Ron and Hermione, all three of whom had stopped to watch her approach, and added, "Alone?"

Harry gestured for his housemates to continue on their way. Although Neville acquiesced with a nod for them both, Ron and Hermione lingered. It took the combined glares of both Harry and Neville for them to actually leave, but they looked over their shoulders frequently. Their intrusion, well-meaning or not, was irksome.

"You wanted to talk?" Harry probed. The auburn haired Hufflepuff glanced up from her shoes. Her bright eyes were earnest, her expression more so. Harry struggled to look away.

"I wanted to apologise, Harry," Susan informed him, "Last year, I knew the whole time that what I was doing was wrong, that persecuting you without any evidence but for the circumstantial sort was inexcusable. In saying that, I'm sorry I did it, and I'm sorry that I hurt you in the process. It was dumb, and regardless of the circumstances, it's a mistake I don't intend to repeat. I know better now how my actions can effect others, and despite the situation, I have to thank you for teaching me that lesson. I just… I wish you didn't have to."

Harry nodded slowly, shoved his hands back into his blazer pockets and mulled over the hufflepuff's words. They were genuine, and she had learned from her mistakes. Harry could appreciate that she was willing to take fault for her own actions.

"Thank you for apologising," Harry began. He chose his words carefully, "I think it's admirable that you're err… woman enough to admit you were wrong. I can forgive you, but I… I can't forget, Susan."

She flinched, but she nodded bravely, a teary smile on her face. They began to walk again, headed up the front steps of the castle, and she spoke quietly.

"I guess that's understandable. It's just… it's easy to forget that you're not invincible." She paused thoughtfully, considered her words, and then continued, "That's our own fault - for putting you on a pedestal - but for what it's worth, I'm sorry for that, too."

Harry looked around, took note of the fact that they'd nearly reached the Transfiguration classroom, and stopped Susan before they could round a corner. He was certain that as soon as they did, Ron and Hermione would be all over him like white on rice. He wanted to finish their conversation before then.

"I'm going to tell you what I told Justin," Harry informed her. His smile was kind, "You can't apologise for other people's mistakes."

Susan eyed him for a moment, nodded slowly, and smiled. "When did you get to be so smart?"

Harry's returning grin was all cheek, they turned the corner, and he replied, "It's a gift."

The corridor echoed with her laugh, and Harry thought she was the prettiest when she was happy. It lit up her whole face.

As expected, Ron and Hermione approached him as soon as he'd turned the corner. Susan excused herself with a fleeting grimace at the pair. She'd never been particularly fond of either of them and she'd never made a secret of it.

The fact she'd not liked them was likely why he'd never gotten closer with her. A lot had changed over the summer, however, least of all his perceptions of - well - everything. Ron and Hermione were his first friends, certainly, and Harry would never forget that. He had forgotten, however, that they had never needed to be his last.

He simply hoped that he'd not burned too many bridges over the last two years.

"Have a good day, Sue."

"You as well, Harry."

Over her head, against the wall, Neville met Harry's gaze and rolled his eyes at their housemates' actions. Harry grimaced his agreement and he bade Susan a smile of his own. He watched her retreat to the gaggle of Hufflepuffs on the other side of their classroom door. Then he turned to Hermione and Ron, expectant. They looked at him with the same expression, and Harry frowned.

"What?"

Ron rolled his eyes and Hermione looked at him as though he were dense.

"What did Bones want?" Ron probed.

"Nothing much," he shrugged. "She just wanted to talk to me alone."

"But _why_?" Hermione pressed. Harry frowned further.

"If she wanted you to know, Hermione, than she'd not have minded if you'd stayed. It's not your business. Same goes for you, Ron. Leave it be."

And fortune smiled on him. Before they could pry further, their classroom door was pulled open, a group of Ravenclaw and Slytherin second years filed out. They were gestured inside only a moment later. Professor McGonagall awaited.

-!- -#-

After Transfiguration and lunch, Harry found himself in front of the Ancient Runes classroom. He was perplexed to find itHermione there, the nearest to the door. She had her head deep in one of the Professor's assigned textbooks, but he'd seen her take off with Ron only five minutes ago. They'd been headed for Divination, so her presence was bewildering. Nevertheless, with her head in a book, Harry knew he'd not get anything out of her now. Therefore, he instead slumped against the wall beside Neville, smirked at Theo, and idly flicked through his pre-reading notes while he waited.

It didn't take long for the Ancient Runes professor to arrive. When she did, Harry entered the room without expectations. He'd learned in his first year, if he did that, there'd be less chance of him being disappointed later.

The classroom, however, was fairly standard. There was a chalkboard against one wall, a teacher's desk slightly left of it, and rows of student tables before them. The alphabet for Norse and Egyptian runes were lined up above and below the chalkboard, the same way the English alphabet had been displayed in his primary school classrooms. Windows line the wall to the left of the room and the wall opposite was lined with shelves. Those shelves were stacked with texts upon texts of runes of all origins.

The professor herself, a woman by the name of Bathshiba Babbling, was a short, somewhat squat lady, with an absentminded expression and flyaway hair turned grey. She wore open robes with angel sleeves over a button down blouse and a pencil skirt. a quill was tucked into the bun at the nape of her neck and ink stains spotted her face, but her eyes were sharp. Moreover, she carried a no nonsense demeanour that belied her appearance. Harry hoped that her class would be as interesting as the woman herself appeared.

With a thoughtful hum, Harry dropped into a seat three rows from the front, two from the windows, retrieved the things he'd need from his satchel, and had just straightened up in his chair when Susan dropped into the empty space beside him. Justin settled to her left, and Neville to Harry's other side. Around them, 16 other students in their year settled in the seats offered, and blessedly, Draco Malfoy wasn't among them.

Thank Godric for small favours. Too much exposure to the Slytherin, and Harry would not be able to keep his volcanic temper in check. Not when Malfoy was so good at riling him up, the tosser.

"Welcome to Ancient Runes," Professor Babbling greeted. Her voice was surprisingly low. "On your desks, you'll find this term's course outline. Read through it, remember the important dates, and if you have any questions, reserve them for the end of the class. Until the winter holidays, this class' focus will be on Norse runes, but this week, I'll cover the nature of Ancient Runes, their value in our society, and in particular, in modern day magic…"

At the end of the class, with questions answered and their homework assigned, Harry left the classroom alongside Neville. As he did, he thought over his options and made his way to the library. Gryffindor Tower would be crowded and he'd learned from previous years that it was a hellish environment to study in. The seeker just wanted to stay up to date with his work, to ensure that it didn't all catch up with him in one fell swoop. He really didn't have the time to procrastinate these days.

Therefore, Harry settled at a table on the second floor of the library, in the farthest reaches of the scarcely used Philosophy section. There, he hunkered down to complete all of the homework he'd been assigned that day. It was mostly worksheets, but Professors Sprout, McGonagall and Babbling had also assigned readings, and it was more tedious than anything else. He'd already read the chapters during the summer, and had taken notes too, but revision had never hurt anyone. Besides, it wasn't as though he had anything pressing to take up his time.

Unfortunately, Professor Binns also happened to have given their first assessment task due in at the end of September. Harry at least wanted to begin his research, if nothing else, because it wouldn't be the last major essay he'd receive over the semester. He'd learned that they had an uncanny way of creeping up on him within the blink of an eye, after all, and falling behind wasn't an option.

It was 45 minutes into his History of Magic research when Harry was interrupted. His homework was completed and it was nearly dinnertime, so he wasn't particularly ruffled. Instead, he smiled at the sight of Theo, gestured for the Slytherin to take a seat across from him, and chatted idly with the taller boy as he scrawled down the reference details at the bottom of his research notes.

"What do you think of Runes?" Nott queried, "Was it what you expected?"

"I didn't really expect anything, honestly," Harry answered, stacked his borrowed library books into a pile, and returned all of his own to his satchel. "But I enjoyed it, I think. She has a way of…" Harry floundered for words, and then settled for, "She keeps the class interested."

Theo hummed his agreement, but he said nothing, and when Harry looked up from packing up his things, the Slytherin didn't look at him. Instead, he stared at the grain of the desk with a brooding sort of intensity, and Harry didn't have to ask. Clearly, there was something wrong.

"What happened?"

"Greyback escaped from the vampires," he answered monotonously, "It was apparently a full moon the day he was taken. From what I was told, he swore revenge on those who captured him."

Of course he had, because the bad guys couldn't stay dead, or captured, or imprisoned, and the Gryffindor had another crazy bastard out for his blood. - Two weren't enough already, after all.

Harry couldn't say he was surprised. It seemed he attracted trouble like flies to honey, though he wondered if Greyback had any clue of whom had captured him.

It was probably too much to hope that he didn't.

"Great," he deadpanned, "That just made my day."

Not grimaced. "I'm sorry you got involved."

Harry shrugged. "My own choice, but I guess I'd better start preparing. Will you?"

"Yeah," Theo confirmed, "I wanted to ask you if you were interested in learning how to use blades. I mean, wands are great, and all, but sometimes they break, or you lose them, and it's always good to have a back up plan…"

Harry nodded. His friend's logic was undeniable. There was also the matter of scheduling though, and they'd probably have to organise that before anything else. He'd also wanted to learn how to duel with a wand, formally and not so, but he'd still been considering whom to ask. Currently, his best bet was Professor Flitwick.

After all, it took more than just knowing spells to win a duel.

He brought up the possibility with Theo, who was encouraging, and Harry quietly resigned himself to a year of very little free time to call his own. He didn't mind, really, because idle hands meant idle thoughts, and productivity ensured that he didn't feel Harry was wasting the short time he had until Voldemort inevitably reared his ugly head, or Black came after him, and Greyback too.

"It's half six," Theo observed, "We'd better go to dinner."

Harry acquiesced with a nod. Once he'd dropped his borrowed books to the pile of shelf returns, they left the library. The thoughtful quiet was a far cry from the rambling of Hermione or Ron, and Harry found himself unused to the quiet. It wasn't bad, per se, simply different. He would get used to it, in time, however.

"I'll talk to you later," Theo said at the entrance to the Great Hall. From there, they separated to their respective house tables. Harry sat across from Neville, served himself some roast chicken, and dug in, famished despite the pie and two sandwiches he'd chowed down over lunch, and the apple he'd stored in his bag for afternoon tea. Regardless of his attention on his dinner, however, Harry had become uncomfortably aware of eyes on him, and the sensation wasn't a comforting one.

"Who's staring at me?" hE asked Neville. The lighter haired Gryffindor looked up, cast his gaze around the room, and blanched.

"Dumbledore and Snape," he answered, and Harry grimaced his acknowledgement.

At the end of his first year, the headmaster had been insistent that Harry stay at the Dursleys. It was likely that he'd not been thrilled to hear Harry had left, what with the blood wards, and all.

Which he still knew little to nothing about, despite his grandfather's insistence that he learn all he could. Fact was, he'd been busier than he'd ever been in his life. Beyond that, Harry figured that he might as well give himself a grounding of Ancient Runes before he started researching the protections on Privet Drive.

Back to the topic at hand, though, Dumbledore would also not be thrilled to hear that Harry had no intention of returning there. The reality was, however, Dumbledore had no legal authority over him outside of Hogwarts. Unless that changed, Harry could live wherever he pleased. In any case, he'd just leave again if Dumbledore forced the issue, but since the man had played such a passive role in his life thus far, Harry doubted he would do anything but _strongly suggest_ that Harry _heed his advice_.

Which, of course, would not happen.

Not in relation to the matter of Privet Drive, in any case.

No, Harry had seen the last of his relatives, and as Vernon would say, good riddance to bad rubbish.

When he'd finished, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower with Lavender and Parvati, dropped into an armchair in the common room, and withdrew the journal he'd filled with the spells he intended to learn. It was nearly halfway full, with a page devoted to each spell and the requisite information to know, among them recommendations by his grandfather and a variety of other ancestors. They were all geared to the purpose of survival. Harry _would_ learn each and every one of them.

In the face of the truth in which three different wizards were actively vying for his blood and regardless of his own fear, Harry could and would not do anything less. He owed it to his parents to survive and more than that, he owed it to them to flourish. In saying that, Harry, despite whatever his relatives had said about him, was not a failure.


	14. Chapter 14: The Tower

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 14: The Tower**

_September 2nd Cont._

"What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry glanced up from his journal and found Hermione stood before him. Her book bag was slung over her shoulder and she wore a curious expression on her face. She seemed more relaxed than earlier in the day, far less high strung without the stress of new classes and strict schedules. His shoulders eased at the sight. He hadn't been looking forward to another encounter of the demanding, interfering sort. It appeared that, at least for the rest of the night, he wouldn't have to.

"Nothing important, Hermione," he lied and settled back in his seat. Beside him, Hermione withdrew her Transfiguration homework. "What did you think of Ancient Runes?"

"I enjoyed it," she replied, but quickly changed the subject, "Have you done your homework?"

Silently bewildered, because Hermione took every opportunity to wax poetic about things she was interested in, Harry simply nodded. He opted not to pursue the topic of Ancient Runes, however. Clearly, Hermione wasn't interested in discussing it and Harry wasn't curious enough to push the issue. She no doubt had her reasons. it most likely had something to do with why she was in Ancient Runes in the first place. Either way, she wasn't the only one with things to hide.

"Before dinner, actually."

Hermione blinked back at him, startled. As she did, Harry laughed sheepishly. Her reaction was rather justifiable, given his scholastic attitude in the past. As she floundered for something to say, however, Harry opened his journal once again and returned to his task. Memorisation wasn't his strong suit, but he'd wanted to commit the incantations to memory before he started practising the spells on Sunday. The process was slow going.

"That's… good for you," Hermione eventually acknowledged. When he looked at her, she looked as though her worldview had been irrevocably changed. It was all rather dramatic. He made an attempt not to respond in kind.

"I don't really have the time to put off homework," he explained simply.

"Why?" She queried.

Harry tilted his head, confused. Then he remembered that the only people who knew he was taking the Saturday classes were Percy, Neville, Professor McGonagall and any other faculty concerned. Since it wasn't anyone else's business, Harry hadn't felt inclined to announce his change in schedule. On that same vein, no one had asked.

With that in mind, he withdrew his student planner and offered her his timetable. He watched her scan through it, patient and curious to see her reaction.

"Why are you taking the Saturday classes?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you laughed about them with Ron last year."

Harry grimaced at the reminder and shrugged. As he did, he made a mental note to thank Neville for the shove in the right direction. "I inherited a lot from my family, including a noble title. As the last surviving Potter, there are and will be certain expectations of me. I don't really feel inclined to disappoint. I have… big shoes to fill."

"A noble title," Hermione repeated dully, "How… when?"

Harry wasn't surprised by Hermione's response. She'd spent so much of her time learning magic itself, she - like him - hadn't thought to learn about the culture they'd stepped into, near blindly. He'd assumed - incorrectly - that there was little to no difference to the non-magical side of things. Hermione had, too.

"I found out in August." He shrugged, not really interested in explaining the finer details. Instead, he took back his planner from hermione's lax grip and returned it to his bag. As he did, he withdrew one of the books he'd retrieved from the library in Redridge Hall. It covered the governmental system from its formation within the Court of Avalon and its gradual progression into the modern day Wizengamot.

It had answered a lot of the questions he'd not wanted to ask. His ignorance was embarrassing and moreover, Charlus Potter was more interested in educating him on the ways of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter.

With his copy of 'Nature's Nobility' and his family's history book, the book had gone with him everywhere. He'd not picked it up in a week though. He figured Hermione would appreciate the read through.

"Some governmental history for you," he offered, "It sounds as dull as watching grass grow, but it's really quite interesting. Just give it back when you're done."

In the non-magical world, it was standard for British children to learn about the government in their final year of primary school. The time he'd spent studying the text he'd just offered Hermione, Harry had more or less compared the differences between the mundane and magical governments. They were startling.

He figured the intricacies of the Ministry of Magic was just something wizarding children grew up knowing, like how all muggle-raised children knew how to bow or curtsy, or to look both ways when crossing the road. It had never been discussed, after all, and none of his wizard-raised peers had ever asked about their government.

Hermione nodded dazedly and accepted the book with a quiet 'thank you'. She ignored her Transfiguration homework and instead immersed herself in the book he'd provided. As she did, Harry returned to his own project. For a time, he'd forgotten why he'd been so irritated by Ron and Hermione earlier. Then Ron arrived, insistent on a game of chess.

Inevitably, the pair began to bicker.

Harry's aggravation returned.

Rather than take it out on them, however, as he'd realised he had unwittingly been doing for the last three days, Harry retreated to his dormitory. He settled at his study desk there and withdrew his family's history book from his bag. He didn't think he could focus on his spell book if he'd tried, not anymore tonight, at any rate. With his friends preoccupied, Harry figured he could read up more on Elric Potter and his adventures over the seven seas.

Before he got the chance, however, his dormitory was invaded by Fred and George. They dropped gracelessly over Harry and Ron's beds, respectively, groaned wearily, and proceeded to inform Harry that O.W.L year was going to be misery. They also informed him Oliver expected them all up at the arse crack of dawn for exercise.

Unsurprised by the early start to their training season, the only thing Harry _was_ surprised about was the fact Oliver, a fourth generation pureblood, had heard of the concept of physical exercise. More peculiarly, that he found it necessary for quidditch.

The twins threw out possibilities of what Oliver would have them do. It became quickly apparent that they had no idea of what they were talking about. Though kind of embarrassing for them, Harry opted to leave them in their ignorance for the night. The physical hell they'd be in the next morning wasn't something to look forward to. Besides that, he wouldn't deny that the expressions on their faces, when they found out would be priceless.

As Athena curled up in his lap and Harry scratched behind her ears, he smiled to himself at the thought. He returned his grandfather's book to his satchel and sat back to observe as the twins' theories, one after another, grew progressively more outlandish as the minutes ticked by. They seemed to have made a game of it. As the clock struck nine and his roommates piled in, however, Fred and George departed. The door clicked shut behind them.

A paranoid Ron eyed his bed warily. He was determined to scrutinise every inch of it for spiders, or any other possible presents the twins may have left behind. As he did so, Harry changed for bed and retreated across the hall to brush his teeth. He returned shortly thereafter, unsurprised to find that Seamus had already passed out over his covers, and Neville was not far behind.

Some things, he supposed, would never change.

"What were they doing in here?" Ron queried. "They're a menace. Can't trust them, really. How do I know they haven't put spiders between my sheets?"

"I guess you can't," Harry answered disinterestedly, the greater majority of his attention on Athena. She seemed to have made something of a nest out of his quidditch robes. She also seemed determined to hold onto them.

Harry wouldn't need them in the morning, but the captain would pitch a fit if his uniform was damaged, and Harry would rather avoid a lecture about how Quidditch, and everything related to it, was sacred, and he should treat it all as such.

Once had been enough, thank you very much.

"Did you see them do anything?"

"No," Harry answered, hauled Athena off his clothes, and deposited her on his bed. He gathered up the pile and dropped them into his laundry hamper. Once he had, he clambered into bed, certain that he'd need all the rest he could get.

The day to follow would be a long, painful one.

"But then, I wasn't looking too closely," he continued. "They mostly just spent their time guessing what Wood has planned for training tomorrow."

"Do you know?"

Harry grimaced. "Nothing pleasant. Night, mate."

"Night." Ron's reply was distracted.

Harry didn't pursue the matter, however. He was likely still certain that the twins had left him a present. In truth, Harry wouldn't put it past either of them. He was tired though, so he closed his bed curtains, dropped against his pillow, and smiled as Athena curled up beside him. He was asleep shortly thereafter. For once, his dreams were peaceful.


	15. Chapter 15: The Charms Master

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 15: The Charms Master**

_September 3rd _

In the grey light of dawn, Harry met his teammates in the common room. With an enthusiastic Oliver in the lead, they each trudged down to the grounds and to the hell that awaited them there.

The air was crisp with the approach of autumn and alive with the sound of morning birdsong. They gathered around the keeper, who explained what they'd be doing for the next two weeks. Harry took the opportunity to take in the expressions of his teammates. He was not disappointed.

True to his prediction, Fred and George's identical expressions of shock and horror were hysterical. He spent the first few minutes of his run chuckling to himself, highly entertained by the spectacle. It didn't take long for him to grow breathless though, because he'd evidently grown out of shape in the two years since he'd last had the odious pleasure of 'Harry Hunting'. His focus eventually fixed onto running and breathing, and like the chasers and beaters, glaring holes into the back of Wood's skull.

Suffice to say, he had never been more glad for quidditch training to end. He staggered up to the castle with the three chasers and two beaters, trudged his way up to Gryffindor Tower and into the bathroom he shared with the Gryffindor boys in his year. He contemplated the possibility of drowning himself in the shower in the time it took for him to clean himself of the sweat and dirt that had accumulated on his run, and the push ups and sit ups that had followed. . Then his mind wandered to the possibility of drowning _Oliver_ in the shower, and Harry turned his attention to preparing for his day, certain that the twins were already concocting some sort of dastardly revenge, and just as certain that he would not need to contribute his own brand of suffering for their psychotic captain.

When he emerged from the dormitories, dressed and refreshed, he found Dean and Seamus in the common room. They were entertaining Lavender and Parvati with a reenactment of some sort. Harry walked with them to the Great Hall, content to simply listen as the four chatted about nonsensical things. He settled into the space beside Neville when they reached the Gryffindor house table, and dug into a protein and carbohydrate heavy breakfast, famished, and silently grateful for the mandatory health classes he'd had to endure in primary school. He was certain that he'd have no idea what he was doing in terms of diet regiment, otherwise, and he really didn't need a poor diet to counteract the exercise regime Wood had just introduced to them.

"How was training?" Neville queried.

Harry glanced down the table, unsurprised to find the twins almost asleep in their breakfast. Further down, the trio of chasers were in similar misery. He pointed them out, Neville grimaced his sympathy, and he probed no further. Instead, they discussed the summer homework Professor Flitwick had assigned in June, and while Fay and Holly contributed with their own opinions, Harry listened quietly. He was somewhat surprised to find that they were far from the vapid, airhead nature of Lavender and Parvati. Rather, they seemed quite intellectually inclined, but Harry supposed that with a housemate like Hermione, it was easy to be overshadowed by her zeal for academics.

Eventually, eight o'clock drew near. The quartet got to their feet, excused themselves from the Great Hall, and made their way to their familiar Charms classroom.

Before they arrived, however, they found a group of Gryffindor first years, lost and unable to find their way to Transfiguration.

"You lot go ahead," Harry encouraged, "I'll take them. Just let Flitwick know where I am if I'm late."

They acquiesced, an Harry was left with fifteen impressionable eleven year olds, their eyes wide and guileless.

"To Transfiguration, then," Harry murmured, and began to lead the way there. He pointed out landmarks as he went, told brief anecdotes about his own time as a hopelessly lost first year, and reached the Transfiguration classroom at ten minutes to eight.

"Hi, Professor," he greeted, "A delivery for you. We found them on our way to Charms."

The first years, after thanking him, shuffled into the room, and Professor McGonagall gave him a rare smile. "That was courteous of you, Mr Potter."

Harry's smile was all cheek. "We couldn't have one of them turned into a watch, or a compass."

Her eyes widened briefly, her lips pursed, and she gestured him out the door. "Be gone with you, scamp."

"As you wish," he intoned, departed, and made it to Charms with a few minutes to spare.

With a brief pitstop at the teacher's desk to deposit his summer essay in the crate appropriately labelled 'Summer Homework', Harry settled in the empty seat beside Neville and withdrew all that he'd need for the class. As he did, he was content to chat idly with Neville as the room filled up with their peers.

When the clock chimed eight, the door was closed. Professor Flitwick lifted himself onto the stack of books behind his lectern and cast his gaze across the room. It was structured with tiered seating - likely so they could all see the diminutive Professor, but as Flitwick began his lecture, and Harry began to copy notes off of the blackboard, he supposed it was also so that the Professor could see _them_.

Throughout the class, the Ravenclaws were liberal with their questions about the laws of spell creation, and similarly, hermione, Fay and Holly's enquiries were in-depth and thoughtful. They spanned the entire spectrum of spell creation, from the history, the legalities, patents and technicalities, and Harry made certain to note down everything with exacting detail. He made a note in his student planner to ask Theo for further information, as well. By the time class was over, Harry was certain he'd not been so interested in Charms since the levitation lesson back in first year.

It was a pleasant change.

Aware that he had Defence Against the Dark Arts in ten minutes, and certain that some of his classmates were watching him as he approached Professor Flitwick's desk, Harry waited for his Charms Professor to acknowledge him. He was not disappointed.

"May I help you, Mr Potter?" Flitwick enquired.

"Professor," Harry began, and floundered for words, "You know about what's happened these last two years?"

"If you're referring to the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets, then yes, I'm aware."

Harry nodded, carted a hand through his hair and simply decided to be honest. "I don't want to be caught in another situation like that, Professor. I got lucky - both times - and one day, my luck will run out."

"You want to be able to protect yourself," Flitwick concluded. Harry supposed that the man hadn't been a Ravenclaw for nothing.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. He paused. "I wanted to ask if you were willing to teach me to duel."

"I wondered when you would," Flitwick acknowledged, "Meet me at the far end of this hall at six o'clock on Saturday evening." He paused. His dark eyes burned into Harry's with an intensity that was almost startling, "I'm warning you now, Mr Potter, if you are not wholly committed to this, than I will stop these lessons, and I _won't_ start them up again."

Harry, relieved and grateful, nodded vehemently. "Understood, Professor. I won't let you down."

Flitwick's smile was fond. He stretched out a hand, in which was a late pass, and answered, "I'm sure you won't. Now off you get, Professor Lupin has always been a stickler for schedules."

With a nod and another effusive thanks, Harry legged it across the castle, reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom two minutes after half past nine and apologised to the professor for his tardiness. Accompanied with his apology was the late pass from Professor Flitwick. With an acknowledging nod, Lupin gestured for Harry to take his seat and the Gryffindor did so, directly beside Neville, across the aisle from Theo.

Lupin cleared his throat, looked around the room and gave a small smile. "As I was saying, you can put your books away. Today's a practical lesson."

The students looked between themselves, simultaneously wary and hopeful. Their first and last Defence practical had been a colossal disaster and they weren't inclined to repeat the experience.

"If you'll follow me?"The students obeyed.

After a brief, humorous encounter with peeves, Professor Lupin led them into the staff room, where Professor Snape was in the midst of a mug of tea. It hadn't change much since Harry's brief glance in his first year, though Harry didn't pay much attention to the decor. Instead, he watched Professor Snape, wary.

Professor Snape, however, paid him no heed and shortly after his departure from the room, they were introduced to the creature called a boggart. By the end of the class, Harry had decided that, finally, they'd received an honestly decent Defence Professor. He seemed to know his stuff well and Harry was eager to learn from him.

Even if he _didn't_ let Harry have a turn with the boggart. Although it was disappointing, it wasn't worth sulking over.

He wasn't the only one, after all.

"That was bloody wicked," Ron declared. Beside him, Dean and Seamus animatedly agreed.

"I wonder what we'll do next?" Neville pondered.

They settled in their usual seats within the Astronomy classroom and Harry was quietly grateful that he'd not have to put up with Astronomy practicals until after the winter holidays. It would be painfully cold, but the midnight classes were awful. Moreover, it was always interesting to learn the legends behind the names.

"Fridays are theory lessons," Hermione answered, "I asked him before we left. And he gave us that reading, and those worksheets to be done by then, too."

"If this is third year," Holly began, "I dread to imagine what O.W.L year will be like."

"You read my mind," Harry acknowledged, a grimace on his face.

"Charms is only readings, at least," Fay opined, "And we never get Astronomy homework."

"No," Harry agreed, and added glibly, "We just get ridiculously difficult star charts instead."

The others laughed and groaned in turn. By then, Professor Sinistra had arrived, and Harry withdrew his notebook and quill. Along with History of Magic, it was one of the only classes he'd not done pre-readings for. Professor Sinistra treated the class like story time and he had an accompanying book of Greek and Roman mythology to help him familiarise himself with the legends.

Not that it was much of a chore - they were rather quite interesting - though the search for meaning within the stories, entirely irrelevant to Astronomy, but apparently necessary regardless, was a pain in the bum.

Nevertheless, the class ended an hour and a half later, the Gryffindors made their way to lunch and Harry chowed down on a pair of sandwiches, an apple and an orange with an enthusiasm that surprised him. All the same, he was no longer hungry afterwards and once he'd stored a pear in his bag for afternoon tea, he slumped against the table and closed his eyes. As he did, he contented himself with listening to the conversations around him.

"Tired, mate?" Ron queried.

"A little bit," he answered. "It will be nice not to have to wake up at the arse crack of dawn tomorrow."

"I'll bet," Ron agreed, "It must be nice to play on the quidditch team, though."

Harry hummed noncommittally, not particularly eager to discuss _that_ particular minefield. He'd known for a long time that Ron envied his position on the quidditch team. Harry doubted that the ginger would appreciate Harry's admission that he appreciated free flying more than anything else. In all actuality, Harry oftentimes resented the restrictive plays quidditch presented. It was an enjoyable outlet though, a way to work off steam and antagonise Draco Malfoy without the risk of detention. Besides that, he couldn't bring himself to bail on the team he'd come to know so well.

Brought from his reverie by the clatter of cutlery and the scrape of benches, Harry sat up, looked around him and noted that the students had begun to leave the Great Hall. He checked his watch, saw that it was a quarter past one and got to his feet.

One more class and then he was free for the remainder of the afternoon.


	16. Chapter 16: The Value of Friends

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Sixteen: The Value of Friends**

_September 3rd - 4th _

At first glance, Arithmency was like the Maths classes he'd attended in primary school, and then it wasn't. It was full of strange formulae, numeric clusters and symbols, but Harry enjoyed the challenge regardless. He wouldn't thrive - not as Theo or Susan would - but he understood the material and he was even vaguely interested in what he could do with that knowledge. Changing spells, creating them from scratch - it was all rather extraordinary. he could understand the appeal it offered to Theo and Susan..

The teacher, a woman by the name of Septima Vector, was interesting as well. She was a tall, leggy blonde with a taciturn demeanour, relatively young and pretty. He thought she appeared out of place in the classroom, but she knew her material and taught it well, so who was he to protest her presence there?

The topic, spell creation, tied into Professor Flitwick's lecture early that morning. It offered an emphasis on the process and it had most everyone in the class enthralled. Harry felt that, like Ancient Runes, he'd enjoy Arithmency very much. It wasn't warding, or even enchanting, but it was creating something out of nothing. Harry was almost certain that he'd be ceaselessly fascinated by the concept.

Except, honestly? He was ceaselessly fascinated by most everything magical. Arithmency was just another in a long line of subjects.

Harry sat beside Susan, withdrew his pre-reading journal and slowly began to wade his way through the introductory worksheet they'd been assigned. It was all theoretical work until fourth year, but as they'd been tasked with dissecting known spells into their arithmetic form, that didn't mean the subject would be a walk in the park.

In fact, he was rather certain it would be the most difficult subject he'd ever studied.

"That was amazing," Susan declared at the end of class, "I'm going to _adore_ Arithmency."

"I'm more interested in Ancient Runes - and warding - myself," Harry acknowledged, "But I imagine spell creation would be remarkably useful. Numerology though… not so much."

Susan nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement. Then she began to prattle on about the subject of spell creation all the way to the library. They passed Theo on the way there, Harry flicked a brief, mocking salute in his friend's direction and continued on his way. He didn't care to consider the inquisition his friend would endure for his actions. It was only Blaise Zabini, after all and there were probably worse people to be questioned by.

"Why are you so interested in warding?" Susan queried later, situated in the Philosophy section, across from Harry. There was a variety of textbooks, journals, and loose sheets of parchment spread out between them. They were for a variety of subjects and it was somewhat difficult to believe that it was only the first week of term.

"The wards around my house are fascinating," he answered vaguely.

Anyone eavesdropping would assume that he referred to the blood wards that had surrounded Privet Drive. He wasn't sure if they were still active, now that he knew he had a home he could call his own, but all the same, the point remained. In all actuality, however, he meant the wards around Redridge Hall. They were old, powerful, and sentient enough to recognise him as kin, and that was only the beginning.

Susan gnawed at her bottom lip and hesitantly queried, "What house is that?"

Harry flicked his gaze up from his History of Magic research, looked around himself warily and met Susan's eyes, bright and determined.

"You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" She queried. "Only, it didn't seem you did these last couple of years and we all know you were raised by muggles."

"Because I didn't," he answered succinctly, "Neville… pointed me in the right direction."

"Dumbledore didn't tell you," she surmised and frowned, muttering to herself, "Aunty Amelia will have kittens, to deny the last Potter his legacy, Merlin! What was he thinking? What was _anyone_ thinking?"

"I've wondered that myself," Harry admitted, "I just… don't want to jump to conclusions."

"I understand," Susan acknowledged, "My Aunt has always encouraged me to believe that a person is always 'innocent until proven guilty'." Her expression turned chagrined. "I guess you weren't the only one I failed last year."

Harry would have said something, but her accusations still smarted. That hurt wasn't going to go away with an apology. He'd forgiven her, certainly and he could still call her a friend, but he was still uncertain if he could trust her with everything.

But then that raised the questions: who _could_ he trust? And why did he need trust to begin with? Did he expect a betrayal? Did he need people completely loyal to him, and to him alone?

Without answers, and uncertain if he wanted them, Harry focused his attention on his Charms homeworkk. He worked through it with a methodical sort of efficiency he'd not applied since he'd stopped doing Dudley's homework for him, followed suit with his Defence Against the Dark arts worksheets and took a break afterwards to eat the pear he'd smuggled into the library.

"Wow, you hellion," Susan teased.

"That's me," he agreed glibly, "Rebel without a cause."

As Susan chuckled and returned to her Transfiguration worksheet, Harry made to start on his Arithmency homework, but Professor Lupin rounded a corner then. He blinked bemusedly at them and turned to scouring the shelves they were surrounded by.

Harry contemplated the possibility of hiding his pear, figured it was a lost cause anyway and took a mouthful of it instead.

"Are you interested in Philosophy, Professor?" Susan enquired.

"Quite, Miss Bones," Lupin answered, "I've been hoping to understand the nature of good and evil for a long time."

"And have you found what you've been looking for?" Harry queried. Again, Lupin's smile appeared so terribly sad, or perhaps wistful was the more appropriate term. He collected himself quickly though and Harry was left wondering if he'd seen it at all.

"Not quite, Mr Potter. I'm sure I will, however. One day."

"Good luck, then, Professor," harry acknowledged. He returned to his work.

-!- -#-

The following morning, Harry woke with a grimace on his face. It had everything to do with the fact that he had Potions first thing after breakfast. His roommates were similarly sombre and they might as well have been a funeral march on the way to the Great Hall. Regardless, breakfast was a pleasant enough affair that ended far too quickly. It left the ten Gryffindor third years reluctantly headed for the dungeons and particularly, the miserable hour and a half ahead.

Typically, the Slytherins were already there, Draco Malfoy with something scathing on his tongue, and of course, Professor Snape nowhere in sight.

The greasy bastard was probably watching from the small slats in the door, the overbearing git.

"About time you got here, Gryffindorks, don't want to risk any more points lost than necessary."

"Were you waiting for us, Draco?" Harry retorted, "I must say, the concern is quite flattering, though one would think you'd have more important things to do with your time. I guess I should just appreciate the gesture as is though, isn't that right, neville?"

"Precisely right," Neville agreed. Across from them, Malfoy's complexion turned an alarming shade of red.

The Gryffindors weren't the only students in that corridor to smother their laughter. Malfoy reached for his wand, teeth bared in an ugly snarl. Before he could shoot off a hex - or something worse - however, Snape appeared, took in the byplay, said nothing, and glowered them all inside.

"Remember to hand in your homework and do not sit down," Snape instructed, "Line up against the walls. You will have assigned partners for the autumn term." Silkily, perhaps even mockingly, he added, "The headmaster wishes to encourage… inter-house unity."

Without ado, Snape proceeded to split them into pairs, by gender and then random selection. It saw Harry blessedly paired with Theo, and Ron the unfortunate sod stuck with Malfoy.

"This seems like a catastrophe waiting to happen," Theo observed, as Harry set up his cauldron, and as Theo withdrew the ingredients they'd need, "Thomas and Finnigan with Crabbe and Goyle? They'll be lucky if they come out of the classroom with limbs in tact."

"That's not mentioning Ron and Malfoy," Harry answered dully. They met gazes and grimaced at the possibilities.

Harry withdrew his textbook and journal, scanned through the textbook's copy of instructions, pointed out Snape's intentional differences and resorted to his own notes to determine which method was more reliable.

"If we did Snape's step two, but the textbook's step six, we should be fine," Harry concluded. Theo took a moment to examine Harry's notes, agreed, and by the end of class, they were one of five potions to come out successful. Dean and Goyle's looked like something from out of a cement mixer, Seamus and Crabbe's was unidentifiable brown sludge, and Ron and malfoy's cauldron had melted beyond repair.

"Least Longbottom didn't explode something," Theo said optimistically.

Harry looked behind them, to where neville looked stupefied, Zabini looked entertained beyond belief, and between them, their cheerful purple concoction bubbled away, apparently flawless despite Neville's past mishaps.

"He looks like he's just had a revelation," Harry observed.

Theo shrugged. "Someone that good at Herbology has to have _some_ skill at Potions. He just had to get over his fear of Snape, first. He probably realised that there's a lot more things scarier than the old bat."

Harry conceded the point with a nod, but before their conversation could continue, Snape appeared in front of them, examined their potion, nodded briskly, and continued on his way. The pair packed up their things, ladled their finished product into vials and left the classroom once they'd been deposited on the teacher's desk.

In truth, harry didn't really care about his Potions grade. Professor Snape was a juvenile bastard who enjoyed getting his petty revenge out on James Potter's son, so the A he'd held since first year meant nothing to him. He had no desire to impress the man and as far as Harry was concerned, he simply wanted to know enough about Potions to pass the O.W.L exams.

Even then, it wasn't much of a priority, given that Harry was more concerned about survival skills than anything else. It would help to be able to brew healing potions and the like, but it wasn't a necessity and that would not likely change.

"What have you got now?" Theo queried.

"Herbology," Harry answered and the pair separated in the Entrance Hall. Harry walked the rest of the way alone and found Justin already at the greenhouses with his fellow Hufflepuffs. He chatted with his friend, and Susan too, until Professor Sprout arrived.

"How are the answers going?" Justin queried, "You haven't actually said."

"I get about five more questions to every answer I find," Harry answered sardonically, "So a mixed bag, I guess."

Justin dropped the conversation there, aware of listening ears and wandering eyes. Instead, they chatted about unimportant things, like quidditch, and classes, and the homework they'd already been assigned. But then his fellow Gryffindors arrived and Professor Sprout as well, and Harry was willingly dragged away by Dean and Seamus. They were once more arguing the merits of football versus quidditch and with a sigh, Harry resigned himself to being mediator.

As he looked back to his two Hufflepuff friends, however, they both smiled and waved and Harry thought they didn't mind too much.

He was glad.


	17. Chapter 17: The Conflict

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seventeen: The Conflict **

_September 6th - 7th_

On Friday afternoon, Harry had a free period in the stead of a third elective. He took the opportunity to get as much of his weekend homework out of the way as possible. It meant he'd have half of his Potions worksheet to finish on top of whatever he was assigned the following day, but perhaps if Theo didn't kick his arse six ways from Sunday that evening, than he'd finish his Potions later that night.

Susan had joined him in the library, and they'd chatted idly about inconsequential things between worksheets and History of Magic research. Eventually, however, it came time to meet Theo. Harry packed up his things, shouldered his bag, bade farewell to the Hufflepuff, and made his way to the classroom they'd set aside for their plans. It was out of the way of student traffic, and Harry, the night before, had taken liberal advantage of the standard cleaning spell - scurgify - to clear it of dust and cobwebs. He had levitated old furniture against the blackboard, and had also cleared the windows to allow for some natural lighting.

As he entered shortly after he'd left the library, Harry found his friend fiddling with blocks of wood, transfigured into the likeness of eleven inch twin daggers. He greeted the Slytherin with a grin.

"Hullo," Theo greeted, "What do you think? First I thought I should teach you how to use a sword, but then I figured that concealment was paramount. Daggers are a lot easier to conceal than swords. That said, if you're interested, I can teach you how to use one during the summer. I figure you're busy enough now…"

"And you'd be right, too," Harry concurred. He deposited his bag on one of the out of the way desks, and continued, "I do wonder how long it will take for me to break down."

"That's what quidditch is there for," Theo answered simply, "To burn off steam, or whatever. Anyway, give these a go."

Theo handed Harry the transfigured daggers, and Harry closed his fingers around the handles, uncertain what he should expect. They were heavy in his hand - more so than should be possible, given the material - but they were strangely well balanced, and Harry thought it would be easy to learn with them.

"Alright, let me just show you how they're held…"

Theo positioned his fingers properly, and once he was satisfied, he began to guide Harry through a series of stances. Despite himself, Harry's arms and legs ached by the end of the session. He felt disappointed in his progress, but THeo's smile was encouraging, and Harry wasn't so disheartened after the show of support.

"Your muscles aren't used to this kind of strain," Theo explained, "You'll have to build up strength through practise and exercise. I hear Wood's got the latter sorted, though."

Harry grimaced at the reminder of the hell Oliver had put them through the morning before, and the burn in his muscles was undeniable. The knowledge that his strength and fitness would improve in time wasn't a comfort, but Oliver was merciless, and something told him Theo probably would be too.

"With interest," Harry confirmed dully. "Practise every day, then?"

"As often you feel is necessary," Theo replied, "Maybe the days you don't have quidditch training?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. He grabbed his satchel, deposited his practise daggers inside it, and followed Theo out of the classroom. "Have you started your Potions worksheet?"

The pair chatted about their homework until they reached the Great Hall, at which point they separated. There, they headed to their respective house tables. Harry ate his food quickly, excused himself as soon as he'd finished, and jogged his way to Gryffindor tower. He was breathless by the time he reached the Fat Lady, but inside, he was at once accosted by Hermione and Ron, in another row about Crookshanks and Scabbers.

Harry didn't really get the chance to catch his breath before they had pulled him into the argument too.

Exasperated, tired, and disgruntled, and not interested in what either of them had to say, he raised his hands to shut them both up, they fell silent, and he glared briefly between the two.

"I don't really care, quite frankly," Harry informed them, "Scabbers is a rat, Crookshanks is a cat, Ron. It's natural instinct, and you can't blame Hermione for that. On the other hand, Hermione, you do need to contain Crookshanks before he actually _does_ kill someone's pet. Now that I've told you I really don't give a damn, please don't involve me in another one of your rows. You're both my friends, and I _won't_ take sides over something so ridiculous."

He slipped his way passed the onlooking Gryffindors, settled at his study desk, and picked up his Potions homework from where he'd left off. Athena curled up in his lap, and Hedwig hooted at him from where she'd made a perch of his headboard.

Neville entered a few minutes later, a bemused expression on his face. "You've really stirred up the doxy's nest," Neville commented.

Harry grunted. Away from the common room, and finally able to relax after his day, the guilt had begun to set in. He'd never been able to handle arguing with his friends, and this time was no exception.

He wouldn't apologise, however. All three of them - Ron, Hermione, and himself - needed to be able to solve their own problems, and moreover, Harry had no desire to get involved.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Harry hesitated, and then continued, "I'm just not used to my new routine yet. The thought of tomorrow makes me feel exhausted and it's not even started yet. I really don't want to deal with Ron and Hermione's problems on top of my own."

"That's understandable," Neville acknowledged. "You'll probably be pleased to hear that we don't get homework for Saturday classes. Just one project a month, and it's not always essays. At least, that's what I've heard."

"Percy said something similar. I'm just struggling to believe it. Do you know anything about the professors?"

Percy hadn't said much about them, and Harry hadn't thought to ask. They'd not spoken much since the start of term. They weren't really friends, and moreover, they each had their own lives. Percy was busy with his final year, with his Head Boy duties and what have you, Harry had his own commitments, and their paths had very little reason to cross. They exchanged greetings, however, in the Great Hall and in the common room, and Harry thought the other boy appreciated it.

Merlin knew, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny went out of their way to avoid their studious older brother. Harry honestly felt bad for Percy, but what could he really do? He wasn't about to interfere with someone else's family, after all.

"No," Neville admitted, "Though I've not really asked, either. I'm afraid that if I knew, I'd be tempted to drop out."

Despite his mood, Harry chuckled. Then he returned to his homework, and the silence between them was easy. It was disturbed only by the rustling of papers, the scratch of quills on parchment, and the distant din from the common room below. And so the hours slipped past and eventually, curfew fell.

Harry clambered into bed, exhausted after another long day. He was uncertain of what the following would bring, but hopefully, it wouldn't be as exhausting as the one just passed. He spared a fleeting thought for Ron and Hermione, but the lure of dreams pulled him away, and it was forgotten by morning.

-!- -#-

The following day, Harry learned that his Legal Studies, Estate Management, Economics and Deportment classes were predominantly made up of the same bulk of students. It was a combination of male and female students alike, from all four of the houses, and they were likely to be as bogged down as Harry felt he already was. Some of them were taking three electives, others participated in more than one extra curricular activity, and yet more were self-studying on top of their schoolwork.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought himself in a room of kindred spirits.

There was twenty of them all told, divided into house groups, dressed in weekend attire, and unwilling to break down the house barriers. Their Deportment Professor, however, would have none of that, and they were divided into groups represented by the four houses. Once done, they were informed that they'd remain in that group until the winter holidays, and she continued quite plainly with a warning that they'd all better learn to get along before long, or risk extra class time to do so.

Harry glanced at his new table mates, his grimace barely suppressed. He'd been grouped with Draco Malfoy, Zacharius Smith, and Michael Corner, perhaps the three most insufferable tossers in their year. His only saving grace was Theo, and even then, that didn't deter from the fact that the next four months of Saturdays would be undiluted hell.

Alas, there wasn't much he could do about it, so while Draco Malfoy argued with the teacher, and threatened the teacher with word that his "father would hear about this," Harry silently resigned himself to a semester of abject misery. Beside him, Theo did the same.


	18. Chapter 18: The Encouragement

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eighteen: The Encouragement**

_October 6th_

In between classes, homework, training, private lessons, and the scarce amount of free time he got between everything else, September flew by. Before he knew it, October was upon them. The unseasonably cold autumn brought with it rainstorms that lasted for days, a castle full of restless students, exasperated teachers, and a great deal of detentions. Harry, however, who'd kept his head down, his grades up, and his focus sharp, was unruffled by the weather restrictions.

"What do you think about the concept of evil?"

Theo frowned, set down his novel, and scrutinised Harry's expression.

They were seated on the front steps of the castle, the arched overhang enough cover from the rain beyond. It was mildly chilly, but the castle protected them from the breeze, and he wore three layers over his shirt and trousers besides.

"What brought that up?" Theo queried.

Harry shrugged. "Professor Lupin, actually. I sometimes see him in the Philosophy section. We talk about it sometimes, or he helps me with some spells I'm struggling with."

Two weeks into the term, when it was apparent that Harry hovered at least a semester ahead of his peers, Professor Lupin had assigned him a list of supplemental spells to learn and books to read.

Harry had taken to the material with hearty enthusiasm. The spells, in addition to his duelling lessons with Professor Flitwick, increased his spell repertoire by leaps and bounds. Harry only wished his progress in Transfiguration, Runes and Arithmency was just as extraordinary.

There was only so many hours in a day, however, and the amount of work they'd been assigned had only increased. Harry would most definitely not be able to put up with any more additions to his schedule. He'd gotten into a routine though, one that allowed him enough free time and quidditch training not to burn out. Everything else could wait.

"I don't really understand the concepts of 'good' and 'evil'."

"Why is that?" Theo queried.

"Professor Lupin says evil is the complete absence of good. But I don't know, I don't understand: what is evil? Is it a mindset, an idea? I mean, so many people I know are so quick to label Slytherins as evil, but if Professor Lupin is right, than they have no idea what they're talking about."

"I think that's said more out of ignorance and prejudice than anything else," Theo observed, "And I think Professor Lupin is right. I didn't know you were interested in Philosophy."

"I'm not, really," Harry laughed, "It makes me think, but the absence of definitive answers annoys me."

"I get that," Theo acknowledged, picked up his novel once more, but watched, mildly curious, as Harry sliced up an apple with a knife he'd transfigured from a quill. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, and Theo was unsure of what he should be more impressed by: Harry's transfiguration, or the ease in which he cut up his afternoon snack. He'd seen Harry's progress in his training, but for some reason, this situation seemed significantly different.

He decided not to think about it.

"The Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch game is coming up," Theo commented. Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated. Not with Theo, the Slytherin noted, but likely with Oliver Wood, whose crazy had become something of legend in the last two months. Evidently, he was _very_ determined to win the house Cup.

"I'm aware." Harry's tone was deadpan, and Theo chuckled, humoured despite himself. "I see how it is - no sympathy for the Gryffindor seeker. Thanks, mate."

"Anytime," Theo replied, "Though it's a wonder none of you have gotten pneumonia yet, what with how often you train in _this_ weather."

The Slytherin gestured to the rain in front of him, a grey sheet of noise like Harry had never seen rain before. It had turned the ground to one giant mud bath, and the loch had broken it's banks about a week ago. The bi-weekly exercises the team suffered through had become something more along the lines of slogging through mud up to their knees for an hour, before the obligatory round of sit ups, push ups, squats and star jumps and, if Oliver was feeling particularly ambitious, army crawls up to the castle steps.

Then there were the Monday and Wednesday afternoon flying sessions, where the team battled with abysmal visibility, strong winds, and the bone deep chill of the ever lerking dementors.

Suffice to say, team training had never been more hellish.

Harry was entirely unashamed to admit that he, the chasers, and the twins had taken every opportunity to throw mud in Oliver's face. As the saying went, however, whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. Besides that, Harry supposed there was worse things he could do with his time than bonding with his quidditch team.

They'd all become something more than just a team over the last few years. Harry appreciated it, and it would be a shame to see Oliver go. Such was life, however, and Harry tried to be optimistic about it. Oliver would have the opportunity to branch out towards new horizons, and meanwhile, the rest of them would be welcoming another sibling into their fold. Plus, they would no longer have to put up with the seventh year's ridiculous training schedule.

"Angelina makes sure we each get a tablespoon of Pepper Up after every session."

"That'll do it," Theo conceded, checked his watch, and turned to his friend. "It's half past four."

Harry nodded, got to his feet, and helped Theo up directly afterwards. They said their farewells, and Harry retreated up to Gryffindor Tower, changed into the usual tracksuit pants and t-shirt he used for any of his training sessions, and made his way to the abandoned Charms corridor. He walked the familiar route to the duelling chamber, and found Professor Flitwick already there. He held a new spellbook in hand, and he wore a smile directed at the Gryffindor.

"How was your day, Harry?"

"Not bad, Professor," Harry answered, "Draco Malfoy only insulted my parentage twice today, so I think he's actually starting to like me."

Flitwick chuckled. "Perish the thought, a Malfoy and a Potter _friends_. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Let's hope you don't have to," Harry answered, tone droll, "I don't think I can handle any more time spent with him."

Flitwick smiled, but he pursued the conversation no further. "I have another book for you."

"For me?" Harry jested, "You shouldn't have."

Flitwick deposited the heavy tome in Harry's waiting arms, a monstrous, leather bound thing, with silver calligraphy on the spine, and parchment pages yellowed by time.

"_A Compendium of Curses_," Harry read, "By Phalanx Dacios. how interesting."

"Yes," Flitwick agreed, "But also very rare, very valuable, and very, very old."

"And you're trusting me with this?" Harry was humbled, but he was also incredulous. "Professor, I can't accept this."

"You can and you will," Flitwick answered, "You've become one of the most gifted students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, and I have every intention of seeing you survive Tom Riddle. I would trust you with far more than just a dusty old book."

Harry was tempted to point out that the tome he held was far more than just a 'dusty old book', but instead, he nodded solemnly, reverently deposited his most recent acquisition inside his satchel, and joined the head of Ravenclaw house in the duelling ring. It wasn't much, really, a square ten by ten foot square, marked by a line of chalk on the stone floor. It was also protected by a host of wards that kept spell fire within the square - among other things - but it was enough for Harry's lessons, and that was all he needed.

"Alright, show me the twelve stances you already know," Professor Flitwick directed, "Eyes closed. I want you to be able to do this form in your sleep by the time term ends."

Harry nodded, withdrew his wand and the transfigured stick he used as a second, and fell into the first stance Professor Flitwick had ever taught him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began the motions that had become so familiar to him in the last month. He practised for an hour every night, and in that time, it had grown almost peaceful in the repetitive motions, and engrained into his muscle memory the same way Theo's blade stances had become.

"Good," Professor Flitwick commended when Harry was done, "Now, _stupefy_."

Harry muttered an oath beneath his breath, sidestepped the spell, and retaliated with a spell of his own, but unsurprisingly, and disappointingly, harry was dropped within three minutes of the first spell. He glared up at the ceiling, disheartened. Professor Flitwick was going easy on him, and he _still_ couldn't manage five minutes.

"You're getting better," Flitwick encouraged, "In your first session with me, you didn't last ten seconds. Just give it time, Harry. You'll get there. There are no instant results here, as you already know. Not when you have to train your mind, your body, _and_ your magic." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Now, come on. You've still got twenty more stances to learn and memorise by term's end, and I plan to teach you two more today."

Harry obeyed with a resolute nod, offered a hand for the Charms Professor, and was soundly ignored for his efforts. It was nothing new - he'd learned quickly that the Ravenclaw head of house was a prideful fellow - and so he took his place in the twelfth stance, and waited to be directed as he would.

And so his training session with professor Flitwick came and went. He stopped by the Great Hall for dinner afterwards, Harry retreated back to Gryffindor Tower following his meal, indulged in a long, hot shower, and immersed himself in his homework directly afterwards. His History of Magic had been finished and marked, a bright green 'Outstanding' in the top right corner rewarded for his efforts, but it had since been replaced with another essay, along with several more assessment pieces. Such was the way of school, however, and at the very least, most of the topics were interesting.

"Hey," Neville greeted, staggering under the weight of an armful of library books, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, and watched, mildly curious, as Neville set the stack on his desk. "You?"

A few titles jumped out at him, the supplemental texts he'd bought in Diagon Alley, or retrieved from Redridge Hall, and Harry felt a fleeting moment of guilt for not sharing with his friend. Then he shook himself, because Harry hadn't known Neville had needed such texts, and he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty for.

"I'm alright," Neville answered, and gave him a breathless grin, "Just doing some research for Professor McGonagall's essay."

"Did you take out the entire Transfiguration section to do that?" Harry queried sardonically.

Neville laughed. "No, but now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure Hermione did."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Harry acknowledged.

He'd not spent a lot of time with Hermione or Ron in the last few weeks, but Harry could safely say he knew them well. Borrowing out an entire section of the library was something he wouldn't put past Hermione. She'd been weird this semester, unduly stressed and perpetually irritable. Although Harry could simply chalk it up to girl problems, Harry was more inclined to believe it had something to do with however she was attending five different electives, despite the fact Runes overlapped with Divination, and Muggle Studies with Arithmency.

Harry didn't know how she managed it, and nor did he pry. It wasn't any of his business, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know anyway. Moreover, he had his own secrets to keep. Disregarding that, however, he was mildly concerned with the girl that had been his best friend, and he hoped she was okay.

"What are you working on?" Neville enquired.

"Charms." Harry held up his book of research notes for the subject, "There are a lot of loopholes in the Law of Animation. I've chosen to justify why it's absolutely redundant as a Charms guideline."

Neville eyed his friend, nonplused, and shrugged. "That sounds ridiculously difficult, but each to their own, I guess."

"You don't think I should do it?" Harry queried, hesitant.

Neville startled, and shook his head, no. "That's not what I'm saying at all. I just mean, it's not something I'd choose myself. Professor Flitwick even said that most N.E.W.T level students wouldn't take up that kind of topic. I imagine it would be difficult." He grinned. "But kudos to you for taking up the challenge, mate."

Harry chuckled, shrugged, and returned to his studies with a pleased smile on his face. It was nice to be supported by his friend, even if only in relation to schoolwork. He didn't think it was a feeling he'd ever get used to.


	19. Chapter 19: The Bad Day

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nineteen: The Bad Day**

_October 31st_

perched on the ledge of an upper level balcony, Harry watched his classmates depart for Hogsmeade village., They were colourful blurs from his vantage point, but they were also the embodiment of a freedom he'd not been able to obtain, and for that, his heart burned with envy.

It was Sunday, October 31st, Halloween, or alternatively, Samhain, and Harry supposed he was grateful for the peace a Hogsmeade weekend provided. He hated Halloween more than any other day in the year, and though most everyone celebrated it, Harry was more inclined to sit, and think, and pay his respects to the parents who'd given up their lives for him. He didn't miss them, not really, but he loved them in his own way, admired them for their courage, and Harry hoped he could make them proud one day.

Nevertheless, he wished he could be headed to Hogsmeade, too.

When all the students headed to the village were out of sight, Harry returned inside the castle, wandered aimlessly for a time, but eventually found his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't so loud as usual, but the first and second years were as rowdy as ever. Not in the mood to deal with them, he bypassed the common room for the stairs with a greeting for those who waved, or smiled, or greeted him in turn.

The quietude, he supposed, was an opportunity. He'd take advantage of it while he could.

By lunch, he'd made headway into the homework that seemed to have caught up to him despite his efforts, and he made his way to the Great Hall to reward himself. There, he was stuck through an enthusiastic replay of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match some days earlier.

It had been a hectic day. Oliver had been a mess because they'd each been training to play against Slytherin, and it was thus something of a curveball when Professor Snape had somehow postponed the Slytherin/Gryffindor game until the spring term. Hufflepuff was thus substituted, and none of them were prepared for it.

Moreover, the rain hadn't let up, and that was only the beginning. Dementors had swarmed the pitch, Harry's broom had broken, and Harry himself had nearly become a splatter on the quidditch field. To add insult to injury, Cedric Diggory had captured the snitch, Gryffindor had lost the game, and Harry had never felt more like a failure.

It had been a bad day all around, and suffice to say, it didn't bear repeating. Ever since, Oliver had been training them more rigorously than ever, the chasers were ready to commit premeditated murder, and Harry was pretty sure the twins had tainted Oliver's clothes with itching powder. Harry was just determined not to fail again, and if that meant aerial training for three hours twice a week, than so be it.

Harry eventually made his escape from the cluster of first and second year Gryffindors he'd found himself in company with, began the familiar walk to the duelling room, and was intersected halfway there by Professor Lupin. He appeared more haggard and worn than usual. Theo had come to the conclusion that the fellow was a werewolf directly after his first absence, and given the evidence, Harry was inclined to agree. They'd agreed not to pass judgement on him though, because Fenrir Greyback was a special brand of psychotic, and as it was, very few werewolves actually associated with the alpha.

Mostly because the greater majority of werewolves were cursed because of him, and after that reality, it was no surprise their hatred for him ran deep.

Theo's grandfather, Thatius, was one such example, but Theo was generally tight lipped about the matter, and Harry had enough sense not to pry about someone else's family members.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted.

"Shouldn't you be at Hogsmeade?" Lupin returned, quizzical frown on his face.

"No, sir," Harry denied, "I didn't get my permission slip signed."

"In that case, would you like to have some tea with me?"

Harry accepted, and he wound up inside the Professor's office, mug of tea in hand, verdant gaze on his surroundings. There were no portraits, but there was a wall full of books, and in the corner, a glass tank sat on an old end table, full of water and seaweed, and a scaly creature with beady black eyes, bone white, brittle looking fingers, and a fanged grin.

"It's a grindylo," Lupin explained, "I'll cover them in your next class.

"It looks ghastly," Harry commented mildly, and Lupin's grin was impish.

"They're rather unfortunate looking, aren't they?"

Harry chatted easily about Lupin's classes thus far, and upon enquiry, the man enlightened Harry on what he could expect for the remainder of the term. The subject transitioned to other matters though, like the nature of good and evil, and the nature of trust and loyalty.

It had sent a shadow into the man's amber gaze, however, and Harry changed the subject when he could, certain to ramble about the spells he'd begun practising in his spare time. All the while, Lupin listened with a strangely nostalgic smile on his face, his ghosts temporarily forgotten.

"-And so Professor Flitwick said elemental spells would always come in handy, especially when outdoors, because that's when those spells are at the strongest - surrounded by their element, you know? - and so I've learned all the theory I could-"

A firm knock on Lupin's office door interrupted Harry's rambling, and both turned their heads to watch Professor Snape slip in, customary sneer on his face. He held a steaming goblet in hand, and he wore a particularly nasty glare reserved just for the Gryffindor seeker.

He should feel flattered, really, that he could evoke such a depth of emotion in someone.

He didn't.

harry returned the glare with an artfully guileless expression of his own, certain to avoid direct eye contact with the Slytherin head of house.

harry still couldn't wrap his head around the concept of legillimancy, but it had taken only one moment of eye contact at the beginning of the year for Harry to recognise that Professor Snape was entirely liberal in his use of it on students. Ever since, he'd employed his grandfather's evasion tactics - no eye contact, idle thoughts, among other things - and all the while, he'd begun to spend three nights a week meditating before he went to bed.

And, who'd have thought? It was far easier said than done.

When Professor Snape had left, and the only indication he'd been there was the innocuous looking goblet between he and Lupin, Harry spoke, a rye tilt to his smile.

"Are you sure he didn't poison that?"

Lupin chuckled, picked it up with a grimace, and drained the concoction in three loud swallows. He set the goblet down on the desk, another grimace on his face, and reached for the bowl of chocolate bonbons he kept at the corner of his desk. He offered Harry one, the boy refused, and he chewed slowly.

"The headmaster would be most displeased if a member of staff attempted to kill a colleague."

"You would think so," Harry acknowledged, "But I wonder if he would even notice. He's a busy fellow…"

Lupin sobered, met Harry's gaze with amber eyes, and seemed to look right through the teen. There was no legillimancy probe, however, and Harry supposed it was simply the grave expression on the man's face that left such an impact.

"I can guarantee, Harry, that Headmaster Dumbledore's first priority is, and will always be, Hogwarts."

Harry was not particularly certain he agreed with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to argue the issue. Thus, he instead pursed his lips, nodded, and tried to take up his former thread of conversation - namely, elemental charms. The atmosphere was strained and awkward though, and Harry retreated as soon as he could. As he did so, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of emptiness inside him.

Unwilling to focus on it, and not able to place the sensation anyway, Harry reached the duelling room, sat on the ground, and began to practise the wand movements of the next spell in his growing repertoire. He learned it quickly though, and afterwards, he focused on recalling all of the others he'd learned, determined not to forget them.

Harry was still there when it was time for the Halloween feast. He gathered up his things, headed for Gryffindor tower, and changed into his formal uniform. Neville was there when he arrived, and the pair walked to the Great Hall in companionable silence, Harry's thoughts on the conversation he'd had with Lupin, and neville under the impression that his friend brooded over the anniversary of his parents' murder.

"Is everything okay?" Hermione pried. Harry nodded, and returned the enquiry. She nodded, the conversation fell flat, and Harry focused on his dinner, certain that he couldn't screw _that_ up.

And so dinner was had, and dessert afterwards, and the students were dismissed for bed. Harry walked with his housemates, but as soon as they'd reached the corridor outside of Gryffindor Tower, they were met with a congested hallway, confused, scared, or plainly disgruntled students, and an empty portrait that had seen better days.

And Harry couldn't say he was surprised in the slightest.

It was Halloween, after all.


	20. Chapter 20: The Black Doubt

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty: The Black Doubt**

_1st November_

In the Great Hall, as the moon travelled westward over the enchanted ceiling, and as staff and prefects patrolled along the rows of slumbering, or restless, students, Harry threw an arm over his eyes, inhaled deeply, and attempted to organise his thoughts. It was past midnight, he was tired, and Ron's lumberjack snoring was no less irritating than usual. Yet, Harry couldn't sleep, and he'd given up trying some time ago. It was draughty, too, the onset of winter no more obvious then when when he only had a sleeping bag between him and the stone floor. All in all, his Halloween could have ended a whole lot nicer.

It was par for the course, he supposed.

Harry was confused, too, and all he could think about was the attempted attack on Gryffindor Tower. It had been confirmed to be the work of Sirius Black, but as his peers conversed in hushed whispers, or slept on without a care in the world, Harry had determined that none of it made sense.

Why had Sirius Black tried to break into Gryffindor Tower?

The entire school had been at the Halloween Feast, and provided that the man was genuinely off his rocker, wouldn't he have attacked the Great Hall? in any case, it didn't make any sense to break into an empty tower…

Beside him, Neville stirred restlessly, punched at the thin pillow they'd each been provided, and grumbled inaudibly under his breath. Harry commiserated, because at least if in Gryffindor Tower, they could wile away their insomnia with something productive. With that avenue closed to them, however, all they could do was lie in their sleeping bags, and allow their thoughts to wander. That, however, allowed questions to fester, and before long, Harry had come to the conclusion that he was in need of more answers. Specifically, answers concerning Sirius Black.

He got the impression they'd be hard to find, but with his decision made, Harry found it infinitely easier to fall asleep.

-!- -#-

When he came to, it was six o'clock, the teachers looked haggard, and classes had been cancelled for the morning. Students were directed to their common rooms to clear out the Great Hall, and after he'd showered and dressed, harry beelined his way to the dormitory. He produced 'Nature's Nobility' from his trunk, unsure of what he expected to find within its pages, but also unsure of where else to start.

He could hear the din of his housemates in the common room below, but it was a familiar backdrop to his life in the tower by that point, and Harry hardly spared it a second thought. Instead, he flopped back gracelessly on his bed, opened his wizarding genealogy textbook to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and proceeded to find nothing relevant to his search. He did learn, however, that Black was the heir apparent to the Black lordship, currently held in proxy by Lucius Malfoy, but assumed to one day be claimed by the tosser's only son, Draco.

And Harry came to the conclusion that could never happen. The blonde Slytherin had only become more insufferable the more time Harry was forced to spend with him. Disregarding the fact that Harry just plainly didn't like the git, that kind of political power in another blood purist's hands was simply a recipe for disaster.

"Oi, what are you doing?"

Harry looked at Neville in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair a mess and whatever else, and figured that his housemate was his best bet for a decent answer.

"I need information on Sirius Black," Harry answered, "Where should I start?"

Neville contemplated the question for a time, a curious frown on his face. Then he shrugged, and answered, "Best ask for the trial transcripts, I guess. You could probably ask Susan for help - her aunt's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She has a lot of power within the Ministry of Magic. Probably something you should know, just in case."

Harry nodded his thanks, got to his feet, and contemplated a way to get in touch with Susan. He hadn't the foggiest idea of where the Hufflepuff common room was, beyond the vague notion that it was near the Hogwarts kitchens, but never mind he had no idea where _those_ were either, he figured his best bet was finding a Hufflepuff, and requesting a favour.

On his way to the Entrance Hall, Harry considered what Neville had just told him. He wondered what his friend had been implying, and he paused to consider the possibilities in one of the courtyards. The woman would be a powerful enemy to have, but she'd also be a very useful ally. Harry was still learning the basics of the power structure that governed magical Britain, however, and he didn't have a clue of how to go about arranging an alliance, if there was even a certain protocol at all to follow. He couldn't do that anyway, since he'd still not claimed the family's heirship, never mind the actual inheritance that awaited him when he came of age.

With all of that in mind, it was probably for the best if he maintained his friendship with Susan for now, and _not_ worry about any political manoeuvrings until he had to. Harry still had time, in any case, and he'd already started to branch out of his friendship group, acquainting himself with his friends' friends, and if any of those would result in a boon for him later, than all the better for him.

-!- -#-

Harry reached the Entrance Hall a few minutes later, looked around the bustling chamber, and took the opportunity to glance into the Great Hall. It had returned to its normal state, and breakfast had been served as well. Susan wasn't in sight though, and he decided to hold off eating until he'd found his wayward friend.

He found Cedric Diggory first, and after a brief inquisition from the older seeker, he was led to the basement, instructed to wait, and rewarded for his efforts when Diggory emerged from a stack of barrels. He was followed directly after by a distinctly starry eyed Susan, who couldn't wrench her gaze from her fellow Hufflepuff until the prefect had disappeared around the corner, though not before Harry had thanked him for his help. He was simply waved off for his trouble.

.

"Hi, Harry," she greeted, "Cedric said you needed to talk to me?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, and with a teasing grin, queried, "Are you paying attention, though, or are you secretly hoping that Diggory will return from around the corner?"

Susan's face turned an interesting shade of red, Harry laughed, and once she'd gotten her aggression out of her system, she sobered.

"What can I do for you, Harry?"

"I need to get in touch with your aunt," Harry answered, "I wondered if there was a way I should go about doing that?"

Susan frowned quizzically, but she didn't question him, for which he was grateful. He didn't think he could explain what his instincts were more or less screaming at him, and he didn't even want to try. They didn't make sense to _him_, and simply verbalising it seemed like an effort and a half.

"A letter will do," she answered, "Just address it to Madam Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or even at our home, Ivory Tower. She'll get it, either way." She paused. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Harry answered, smiling briefly, "I just have a favour to ask of her."

She nodded slowly, excused herself to catch up on homework, and Harry retreated back to Gryffindor Tower. He settled himself in his dormitory, withdrew a roll of the important parchment his grandfather had insisted on - vellum, or whatever - and paused before he began to write.

Harry had no idea of what he should say.

He contemplated asking Neville for help, but he'd already asked so much of his friend, and he didn't want to be a burden. And so Harry began to write, figuring that honesty was the best policy in this particular case. When he was done, he dried the ink, deposited the letter in an envelope sealed by the Potter coat of arms, tied it to Hedwig's talon, and sent her on her way.

In England later that night, Amelia Bones would retrieve the letter from the spectacular owl, and the following day, she would learn that there were no trial records for one Sirius Orion Black. She would inform harry Potter of this fact, and then she would brave hell and high water to see the decade old injustice corrected. Black would be found at the beginning of December, he would be tried and found innocent by the 20th, and by Yule, or Christmas Eve, he would be a resident of St Mungo's, recovering from longterm exposure to the dementors of Azkaban, and under the overprotective care of a house elf named Totsy.

In the mean time, however, Harry made his way to the Great Hall. He settled across from Fred and George, served himself some porridge, and listened as the twins, and Lee Jordan, planned out the start of yet another prank.

Harry didn't care for it, really - pranks, that is - but he had to admire the trio's collective genius. One had to be absurdly intelligent to pull off some of those jokes. That was, of course, not taking into consideration the talent for Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions required. The three fifth year boys were brilliant, and Harry was just glad he wasn't their enemy.


	21. Chapter 21: The Trial

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty One: The Trial**

_December 5th - 15th_

The day Harry learned that Sirius Black had been taken into custody, his trial pending, was the same day Scabbers disappeared. There was no sign that he'd been eaten, or that he'd crawled off to kick the bucket in private. He'd just vanished, and regardless of how often Ron had complained about the rat, he was upset. He and Hermione had argued about it, and there didn't seem to be a resolution of their fight. Not any time soon, at least.

Harry, who was more or less estranged from the pair, had been more preoccupied with the reality that he would finally receive the answers he'd been waiting _ages_ for. He could finally learn of why his family had been targeted, why Voldemort had tried to kill him as an infant, why his parents had been in hiding to begin with.

The man's trial couldn't come soon enough.

The 'Daily Prophet' had written a front page spread regarding the absolute travesty of justice Sirius Black's trial, or rather, the lack thereof, presented, chock full of quotes from outraged members of the Ancient and Noble house of Black, from members of the Fudge Administration and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, among others. Harry read none of it. He was angry, actually, that it had taken 12 years for this day to come. It was appalling.

"Are you pleased?"

Harry shrugged, gaze on the icy surface of the loch. Neville stood beside him, quiet strength and silent companionship. Theo would have occupied himself with disparaging remarks about the Ministry of Magic, Susan would have babbled about whatever came to mind, Justin would have tried to talk him into a debate about football, or movies, or music Harry liked.

I just… want answers."

"Yeah," neville acknowledged, "I don't blame you."

In silence, the two returned to the castle, flushed from the cold and the biting winds. Winter had arrived with a vengeance, drowning the castle in piles and piles of snow until the surroundings were completely awash with white. The nights were frigid, the days weren't much better, but the Gryffindor common room was perpetually warm, and the rest of the castle was more or less tolerable.

Quidditch was out of the question, which meant Harry's schedule had cleared up marginally, but the free time was spent elbows deep in his studies instead. The approach of exams and final projects hung over him like the sword of Damacles, but at the very least, he wasn't the only one stretched thin, and that knowledge somehow made it easier to bear. All the same, he looked forward to the winter holidays, to a reprieve from homework and classes, and what have you. The break was still a month away, however, and Harry had no desire to slack off now.

The days passed, and the 13th arrived in a flurry of snow, a chill Harry could feel in his bones, and the unshakeable feeling that things were about to change all over again. He'd received permission from McGonagall to leave school for the public trial, and though Harry had thought it would be awkward to be accompanied by Lupin when things were still tense between them, he found that, instead, they were both too concerned with what would take place that day to worry about the discussion that had strained their quasi friendship in the first place.

"Are you nervous?" he asked Lupin.

"Tired," Lupin answered, "I thought I put this part of my life behind me along time ago."

-!- -#-

The trial was like watching a train wreck. It was awful, particularly for the Ministry of Magic. As soon as Sirius Black swore an oath on his magic to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and then proceeded to tell everyone, in exacting detail, about the events of and surrounding October 31st, 1981, there was uproar. The press was in a frenzy, the politicians were outraged, the Black contingent in the visitor's gallery were more or less frothing at the mouth.

The man could still cast a lumos spell, and he'd not dropped dead either, and apparently he was Harry's oath sworn godfather - whatever _that_ meant - so it went without saying that the only crimes he was responsible for was the illegal animagus thing. It was quickly determined that, after twelve years in Azkaban, he'd apparently atoned for. There was also the destruction of private property - namely, the Fat Lady's portrait, though that was quickly rectified by a government ready to cover their own arse as best they could.

It did, however, raised the question of _why_ he was trying to break into the Gryffindor common room.

When harry had learned that Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew, Harry had turned faintly green. He'd slept in the same room as the man who'd betrayed his parents to Voldemort, in the same room as a Death Eater, known murderer, and such things.

What else had he done in the service of Voldemort?

What else could he have done to them?

Later that night, he'd told his roommates. They all seemed mildly queasy, though it was only Ron who'd actually been sick. None of them blamed him, of course. Scabbers had slept in his bed, after all.

Eventually, as in two days later, Black was found not guilty for the charges laid out against him, of murder, of accessory to murder, of treason, and compensated largely for the _massive_ screw up on the Ministry of Magic's part. They'd also promised to pay any medical fees required to see the Black scion returned to full health, which also saw Sirius court ordered to spend as much time as necessary in St Mungo's hospital for that specific purpose.

Of course, it was said a lot more diplomatically than that, but _that_ didn't stop the 'Daily Prophet' from tearing strips into the former Bagnold administration, and in response, Madam Bones, of the DMLE, had ensured a in-depth enquiry as to how, and why, the oversight had occurred.

After all of that, Harry had returned to school, had thrown himself into his studies, and had tried not to think about how much everything had changed. He'd meet Sirius Black over the winter break, and he'd go from there. Until then, however, he took comfort in the daily grind of life at Hogwarts, and tried not to angst about how dramatic his life had become, because, truly, Harry would probably not have it any other way.


	22. Chapter 22: The Unwelcome Warning

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty Two: The Unwelcome Warning**

_December 20th _

"Are you ready?"

Harry tilted his head in a nod, shouldered his satchel, and glanced around their dormitory. Dean, Seamus and Ron had already left for breakfast, the room was tidy, and for the first time since they'd started at Hogwarts, their dorm would be empty for the holidays. Ron was headed home with his family, Harry was headed over to Neville's, and it would be weird to spend the break away from school. A good kind of weird, yes, but weird no less.

"Yeah," he acknowledged, "Let's go."

They exited the tower and chatted idly as they traversed the Hogwarts corridors. The Great Hall was already chock full of excited students eager for Christmas (or Yule). The pair joined the din, enthusiastic for breakfast, and more enthusiastic to leave the castle for a couple of weeks.

The end of term feast came and went, and Harry boarded the train with Neville. They wound up in a compartment with Dean, Seamus, and Ron, and the five spent the first few hours of the journey engrossed in an animated game of exploding snap. It finally came to an end when Percy confiscated the deck with an explanation that they were making far too much noise. Ron had blown a raspberry at Percy's back, harry was tempted to do the same, but they got over it quickly. Between conversation about what they'd be doing over the holiday, being soundly trounced by Ron in wizard's chess, and an over-indulgence in the sweets they'd purchased from the trolley lady, the hours slipped by.

Eventually, they reached London and Kings Cross Station, Harry disembarked a few feet behind Neville, and allowed his friend the opportunity to reunite with his grandmother without Harry loitering like a bad smell. Before he could really register it though, Harry had been pulled into a hug by the elderly witch, and bemused, he met Neville's gaze over the woman's shoulder, and the lighter haired boy could only roll his eyes, unsurprised.

"Come, the both of you, we have Christmas shopping to do."

She swept them away towards the fireplaces, offered them each a pouch of floo powder, and directed them towards Fyne Alley. It was a high end shopping district that branched off of Diagon Alley, catering to the rich and the richer, and Harry, whose wealth was still something he could barely fathom if he thought about it too much, had avoided it like the plague.

"Do you know what you're getting everyone?" Neville enquired.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, "I'll have to go down Knocktern Alley for a couple of things, though."

Neville looked unfazed. Harry wondered if his friend had ever been down there, but he didn't ask. Instead, he paid for his intended present for Susan from the shop the Dowager Lady had dragged them into three quarters of an hour earlier, and a present for Hermione as well, if only as a peace offering for being a git at the start of term.

"It's nearly time for dinner," Neville observed, "We'll have to come back tomorrow. THere's a herbalist down that way I want to see."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, just as Lady Longbottom approached the counter. She was a tall and stately woman, with hair turned silver with age, and shrewd brown eyes set in a face that seemed to have aged gracefully despite the hardships she'd lived through over the years. She'd probably been beautiful once, and if he wasn't so confused about how witches and wizards aged with the addition of magic, he'd have pegged her for a woman in her early fifties, silver hair notwithstanding.

"Are you boys ready for dinner?" She asked, already headed for the door. "Of course you are - you're growing boys, after all."

The two Gryffindors followed after her like ducklings after their mother, nodded their confirmation when she turned expectantly, and without ado, she led them towards what had to be the most expensive restaurant Harry had ever looked in, never mind _dined_ in.

It was full of wealthy clients and stoic wait staff, and as they approached a table for four in a far back corner, separated from the rest of the restaurant by lantern-like dividers, Harry caught sight of a number of his peers he'd hoped he wouldn't have to suffer the sight of until January. Most notable were the Malfoys, austere and pretentious as ever, and Harry looked away before he was forced to acknowledge their presence.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?"

Harry chuckled, nodded his agreement, and once the Dowager Lady had been seated, chair tucked in by Neville, Harry took his own seat, his deportment lessons on his mind.

Conversation was more or less easy, about classes and homework and peers, but eventually, dessert had been consumed, digestive liqueurs were had, and the meal paid for by the Dowager Lady, regardless of Harry's protests. The woman wouldn't hear any word of it, however, and instead, she ushered the two friends out of the restaurant and back towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"Your Gran's scary," Harry decided, and Neville was highly entertained.

"I've lived with her most of my life, mate. I know."

As they passed Knocktern Alley, a figure stepped from the shadows, and Neville's grandmother screeched to a halt. The two boys were not far behind.

"Sanguini."

Harry jerked in response to the name, and his mind returned to the summer, when Theo had explained the bounty on Greyback's head. Gregorio Sanguini, leader of one of the western European vampire clans, and a force to be reckoned with. It started with his wealth, his connections contributed, and that wasn't even the least of the power he had at his disposal.

Dangerous.

Formidable.

Ruthless.

He was a legend, and a bloody terrifying one.

What was he doing here?

"Lady Longbottom." Sanguini bowed over the Lady's hand, straightened up quickly, and turned his gaze to the teenagers behind the witch.

Gregorio Sanguini was tall and thin, lean like a runner, or perhaps a fencer. His hair, black as night, seemed to swallow up the feeble lantern light of Diagon Alley, and his eyes, ruby red, seemed ageless. They seemed to stare right through Harry himself, and Harry wanted to run.

"Mr Potter." Harry swallowed convulsively, and the vampire's gaze didn't miss it. He smiled, but Harry could see no mirth in the expression.

All the boy could really think about was how he wished he'd not foregone his scarf that day, and Harry had to wonder about his priorities.

"I've come to deliver a warning."

If that wasn't ominous.

"Sir?" As much as he was scared, harry was mildly confused. Certainly, he had bookends to do his dirty work? Why would he deliver a warning, personally?

"That _mongrel_," Sanguini spat the word like a curse, "Knows who you are. he wants your head."

And with that, he was gone. He'd faded into the night as though he'd not been there at all, and Harry was pale, his hands clammy. He hadn't needed clarification, and the warning made his dinner settle in his stomach like a lead weight. He wondered vaguely if he'd be sick.

"Come," Lady Longbottom said, "We will travel to Aster Hall, and you'll explain to me what in Merlin's name that man was talking about."

Harry didn't protest.


	23. Chapter 23: The Last Victims

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty Three: The Last Victims**

_December 20th - 21st _

The Dowager Lady Longbottom listened to Harry's tale with solemn eyes and pursed lips. Neville listened too, unaware of the entire story, and when Harry was done, the trio sat in silence but for the sound of a crackling fire and the distant chime of Christmas bells.

Aster Hall, Harry found, was as grande and imposing as Potter Manor. inside, however, within the cozy confines of a private family room, as snow fell beyond the windows, and as a fire danced merrily in the hearth, there was something distinctly _homy_ about the ancestral estate.

Perhaps, he thought wryly, it was because it had actually been lived in during recent years.

The wards had welcomed him as a friend, had somehow recognised his kinship with neville and rejoiced, and some hours later, as he sipped at a mug of hot chocolate and awaited the Dowager Lady's response to his story, Harry thought it was a place he could get used to.

"You live in interesting times, Mr Potter." She paused, contemplated her mug, and sighed to herself. "Perhaps I have no right to, Harry, but I do worry for your wellbeing. Neville's told me of your… _adventures_ at school." Glibly, she added, "The stories are not comforting."

Harry remained silent. He didn't really have a response for Lady Longbottom's concerns, because the truth was, she was more or less a stranger. An ally, most certainly, against whom was yet to be determined, but the fact was, he didn't really _care_ if she worried about him. Maybe that was wrong of him, maybe it wasn't, but either way, he was a guest in the woman's home, so Harry wasn't about to speak out against her and her worries.

"He's not the first lunatic I've had to deal with," Harry answered carefully, "Rest assured, I'm not treating the threat lightly."

Lady Longbottom accepted his words with a nod, shared a silent conversation with Neville, full of arched eyebrows and disapproving frowns, and left the two boys to their own pastimes. The door to the den clicked shut behind her retreating back, and Neville glared into the fire.

"Is something wrong, Neville?"

"You're going to be seeing your godfather on Christmas Day," Neville said, "After Yule, I mean. Gran wanted me to tell you that we'll be accompanying you to St Mungo's. Just… not to see Lord Black."

The question was on the tip of his tongue - why? - but Harry didn't prod for the answers to questions he'd had since first year. Instead, he waited for Neville to explain, and though it took time, and a few stuttered beginnings, Harry was not disappointed.

"You're parents were the last victims of _Voldemort_, but they weren't the last victims of the war."

Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of Harry's stomach, and a part of him, that part of him that believed ignorance was bliss, didn't want to hear the rest of Neville's explanation. Of course he'd wondered. _All_ of the Gryffindors in their year had. Why did Neville live with his grandmother? What had happened to his parents? None of them had dared to ask.

"It was November 3rd. My parents had just come out of hiding - they'd been told it was safe. I was in the nursery. my mum was with me and I heard… I _saw_ everything. I didn't remember, but the dementors, you know?"

Neville looked haunted, and Harry had no words to say. He simply nodded because - yes - he understood - all too bloody well - and hoped his silent support was enough.

Neville stared down at his hands, clasped together between his knees, and sighed shakily. "They were tortured into madness by Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior. They're permanent residents of St. Mungo's now."

Bloody hell.

There was nothing Harry could say to that, and so he stayed silent. Neville slumped back against his chair, and the pair sat like that for a time, though the silence was broken by Harry.

"I can't decide what's worse: never knowing them, or them never knowing you."

Neville laughed and cried, and the smile he gave Harry was bitter. "Is it awful of me that I sometimes wish that they'd just die?"

harry swallowed hard, and he clenched his hands, helpless and clueless and briefly, morbidly grateful that his parents had not suffered. He couldn't bear the thought of it. "I don't know."

Later, Harry lay in the bed he would use during his stay in Aster Hall, in the luxurious bedroom he'd been appointed, and stared blankly at the night darkened ceiling overhead. He'd blown out his candles, and only the faintest of moonlight filtered in through the windows, and he wished he could take away the knowledge he and his friends had been so curious about. More than that though, Harry wished Neville didn't have to know that kind of misery, but as well as Harry knew his own name, there was no forgetting that kind of pain.

Eventually, Harry fell asleep and in the morning, his mood wasn't better. He dressed for the day regardless, made his way to the dining room with the aid of some helpful portraits, and wasn't particularly surprised to find the Dowager Lady already there, seated across from a bleary eyed Neville, who looked about as drained as Harry felt.

"I'll be visiting some friends today," Lady Longbottom said, "Do you two have plans?"

"Just finishing our Christmas shopping," Neville answered. Harry nodded his agreement, and the rest of breakfast past in companionable silence.

Afterwards, Harry and Neville rugged up in their winter wear, approached the fireplace, and disappeared into the floo network. They emerged in Diagon Alley, and with pockets full of coin, they proceeded through the remainder of their holiday shopping with little fanfare.

"Did you want to head down Knocktern now?"

Harry acquiesced, and as Neville ducked into the herbalist's, Harry found his way into a blacksmith's, uncharacteristically nervous. He'd never made a custom order before - for anything, really - but as he took in the sight of the various blades displayed on the walls, he thought it was a gift Theo would appreciate. In any case, Harry needed to give the Slytherin something that would accurately portray his gratitude for the lessons, and as Theo had lamented the fact that he'd grown out of his last pair, a set of daggers would probably suit the NOtt scion well.

Harry just hoped it wasn't something he'd come to regret later.

The blacksmith, a hulking, imposing figure, took Harry's order with acknowledging grunts and little enthusiasm, but once his payment was made, and the delivery guaranteed by the 25th, the boy wizard left the shop with a pleased grin, and only a gift for his godfather left to buy.

That, he thought, would be easier said than done. He didn't know the man, didn't know his interests, his likes or dislikes, didn't know what he'd appreciate. Sirius Black was family though, and if nothing else, he couldn't visit empty handed. As he'd come to learn, that simply wasn't done. Particularly with kin.

Perish the thought that he'd ever have to purchase a gift for Draco Malfoy. He shuddered at the prospect and tried not to dwell on it. Instead, he meandered the busy alleys, and prayed for inspiration to strike. Despite himself, he wanted to make a good impression.

Maybe then, Sirius would actually want him, would be proud to call him kin.

One could only hope, anyway.


	24. Chapter 24: The Family

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 24: The Family**

_December 25th _

On Christmas morning, Harry woke to snowfall outside his window, and a pile of presents at the foot of his bed. It was no longer a surprise to actually _receive _presents, but Harry took a moment to marvel over the reality that he was loved - that he _mattered_ - before he actually opened them. As he did, Athena burrowed further beneath his covers, and he supposed the cold wasn't kind to her old bones.

Among his gifts, he received a knitted jumper and a tin of fudge from Mrs Weasley, a magical walkman and the first 'Nirvana' EP from Justin, and a set of eagle feather quills from Susan. Theo, coincidentally, gifted him with a set of twin daggers, Fred and George with a box of Zonko's products, and a set of seeker's gloves from Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and Oliver. Ron gave him the customary box of sweets, Professors Flitwick, Lupin, and Hermione, too, each gifted him with a book, and finally, Sirius had bought him a new broom.

A Firebolt, specifically. He'd admired it over the summer, and knew - all too well - how valuable it was.

Harry held it in reverent hands, uncertain if he should be grateful or not. It was a work of art, most definitely, but at the same time, Harry felt as though it came with a price tag: the broom, for his affection.

Perhaps he was just bitter, but before Harry could dwell on it, Neville knocked on his door with word that brunch would be ready soon. Harry washed his face and dressed for the day, casual in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a dark blue pullover. He tugged on his sneakers, carded a hand through his flyaway hair, and descended the staircase to find the den crowded with Neville's family.

He suddenly felt remarkably underdressed.

Neville approached him with a grin, and proceeded to introduce Harry to a bunch of people whose names Harry forgot shortly thereafter. There was his Great Uncle Algie, who'd dropped Neville out of a window when he was eight, his Great Aunt Nolene, a variety of aunts, uncles, and cousins, and by the time brunch was served, Harry was mildly overwhelmed.

"Excepting Great Uncle Algie, they're all maternal relatives," Neville said quietly, "Strictly speaking, I'm the last of the Longbottom line. It's why they were so concerned that I didn't have magic."

"That doesn't justify their treatment," Harry answered bitterly, and Neville could only shrug. He had no argument, and in his mind, it could have been much worse.

Harry himself didn't even want to think about it. Otherwise, he'd have to label his _own_ treatment at the hands of his _own_ relatives, and he _really_ didn't want _that_ label over his head.

He was _not_ a victim.

-!- -#-

Shortly after midday, the guests began to trickle out, and by one o'clock, Harry, Neville, and Lady Longbottom were on their way to St. Mungo's.

Despite himself, Harry was nervous, and he wondered how his upcoming meeting with Sirius would go. Correspondence between them had been tentative at best, and undeniably awkward to boot, and his trust was a hard thing to come by.

Then again, Black _did_ try to protect him, for the most part. A part of Harry was certain that Sirius had acted mostly out of revenge, but he _had_ sought Harry out on Privet Drive. Harry couldn't forget that.

"You look terrified," Neville commented.

"I am," Harry admitted.

They slowed to a stop by the receptionist's desk, where Harry was informed that Sirius Black was a patient in the hospital's long-term wing. Neville quietly explained that his parents were too, and they led him to the elevators in solemn silence. It seemed, though, that Sirius had a private room, because the Longbottoms stopped him in front of a room with a closed door and curtained windows.

"Would you like us to stay, Harry?" Neville queried.

Harry shook his head, no. "Thanks for the offer, Nev. I think I'd like to do this alone, though."

"Sure, mate," Neville acquiesced genially, "We'll be in the room at the end of the wing."

The Longbottoms left, and Harry was alone. He shook himself, took a bracing breath, and knocked on the door. He was surprised, then, to see a pinch-faced woman with stern grey eyes answer. He wondered, briefly, if he'd arrived at the wrong room.

"Harry Potter," she greeted mildly, "We've been expecting you."

Mildly perturbed, Harry followed her into the room, and looked around curiously. On the bed, Sirius Black watched him through weary grey eyes, thin, and mildly jaundiced, but healthier than he'd appeared in the 'Daily Prophet', or even at his trial. He'd put on some weight, he'd lost the beard and the matted hair, and he wore a small, tired smile.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius greeted him. He took in Harry's features, and smiled wistfully. "If Remus hadn't forewarned me, I'd have thought you James come back to life. Godric, the resemblance is uncanny."

"I've been told that," Harry acknowledged, approaching the bed. "Hello, Sirius. How are you?"

"I've been worse," Sirius answered flippantly, and his gaze flickered to the woman behind Harry. "But never mind that. I want you to meet Cassiopeia. She's my Great-Aunt, and she's yours, too."

Harry turned, and the woman scrutinised him with a gimlet eye. She didn't appear malicious, but neither did she appear kind, and Harry was wary. He'd had bad experiences with aunts: one was a harpy, two were dead, and the last - Marge - wasn't even blood.

"You'll do well, I think."

"Pardon?"

A corner of her lips pulled up in the slightest of smiles. "Why, as Lord Black, of course. Better than Narcissa's spawn, in any case. Your wardrobe needs work, however - _no_ scion of the house of Black will be caught _dead_ in those muggle _rags_."

"If I recall correctly, _I_ wore those so called _rags_ regularly," Sirius interjected glibly, "They're quite comfortable, Cass. You should try it sometime." To Harry, he added, "Wear whatever you like, Harry. The only time it will _ever_ matter is in the Wizengamot."

Cassiopeia glared, outraged, but said nothing. Instead, she settled in the seat located in the corner of the room, withdrew a small black journal from her bag, and apparently tuned out the two remaining occupants. Sirius himself caught Harry's gaze, raised his hand to his ear, and twirled his index finger in a circle. Harry, in turn, laughed.

Sirius, he thought, was an alright bloke. It would be cool to get to know him better.

At the very least, Harry hoped so.

Sirius grinned, pleased. He gestured for the teen to take a seat on the edge of his bed, and as Harry did so, Sirius requested, "Will you tell us about yourself?"

Harry fidgeted, uncomfortable under their undivided attention. "What would you like to know?"

"Anything," Sirius replied, "Everything. Whatever you're happy to share. I've got a lifetime's worth of things to learn about you."

Despite himself, Harry smiled. There had been very few people interested in Harry - just Harry - and as he began to answer their questions, he sort of liked it. He wasn't sure if it was something he could get used to, of course, though he was certainly willing to try. Even better, Cassiopeia and Sirius were willing to let him.

It was a novel experience.


	25. Chapter 25: The Return to Hogwarts

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty Five: The Return to Hogwarts**

_January 4th _

Harry's time with Sirius and Cassiopeia ended on a positive note. They'd discussed his classes, and when they'd learned of his hectic schedule, both Cassiopeia and Sirius had insisted that he drop Legal Studies, Estate Management, and Economics, with the explanation that it would be Sirius' responsibility to tutor Harry in those subjects - and then some - during the summer holidays. Harry had acquiesced without complaint, and afterwards, the two Blacks occupied Harry's time with verbal spars regarding politics and politicians, bickering about relatives Harry didn't know, and questioning Harry himself about his life, his interests, and his friends. In turn, they'd shared aspects of their own lives, and before he'd known it, Lady Longbottom and Neville were at the door, and it was time for Harry to leave.

He'd done so with only faint reluctance. These people were his family, yes, but he'd known them only a day. He was currently more fond of what they represented, as opposed to the individuals themselves. It would change in time, but for the moment, Harry was honest - brutally so - when he admitted - if only to himself - that he wouldn't miss them.

Afterwards, the holidays zipped by in a blur of letters, holiday homework, conversations with Neville, and idle musings over what the next term would bring. On occasion, they would play outside, but snowball fights weren't nearly so exciting with only two players, and thus, most of their time was spent indoors, keeping themselves entertained with chess, gobstones, snap, or books. To Harry, however, it was the companionship that really mattered, and by the time they were headed back to London, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so _content_.

"Another five months with Professor Snape," Neville said, weary.

"It could be Lockhart," Harry opined, and his fellow Gryffindor grimaced.

"Merlin, a year with _both_ of them was _the worst_," Neville said, emphatic.

"Preaching to the choir, mate."

"What?"

Harry shook his head, "Muggle expression. Never mind."

They each bade farewell to Lady Longbottom, boarded the Hogwarts Express, and settled themselves in a compartment near the end of the train. The platform was bustling, the corridors were too, but as Harry withdrew a deck of standard playing cards, neither Gryffindor was ruffled.

"Can I ask you something, Harry?" Upon harry's nod, Neville enquired, "What are you going to do about Greyback?"

Discreetly, Harry lifted one of his trouser legs to reveal the dagger holstered to his calf. He'd carried it with him since Christmas Day, its partner in an invisible holster at his belt. Both blades were moulded from silver, their handles finely carved ivory. They were from Theo, and they were a wonder.

Not for the first time, he marvelled over the value of gifts given by wealthy friends. Theo's gift would have cost an arm and a leg, and Neville, along with his grandmother,had gifted him a delicate, solid gold display snitch.

Harry hadn't even _tried_ to guess at the price of it.

"Are you worried?" Neville queried.

Harry lifted his hand lazily, palm to the floor, and tilted it side to side. "More or less. I'm used to threats to my life, but I've never dealt with someone more animal than human. If all else fails, the silver should hold him at bay."

He grimaced. He hadn't really expressed that right. He had no real intentions of seeking out Fenrir Greyback, and neither did he have any intention to fight the were. Mostly, he was more concerned about making sure the bastard knew to stop targeting him, and if he was lucky, he'd be able to subdue him long enough to get the appropriate people involved.

Clearly, not the vampires, since they couldn't keep _one_ of their mortal enemies contained, but neither the Ministry of Magic, since Greyback couldn't be charged for infecting others. It was a loophole in the law shamelessly exploited, the fact that charges couldn't be pressed by those considered something less than human, but it wasn't really Harry's concern.

Theo would probably know who best to contact, and Harry made a mental note to ask the Slytherin. At least, he hoped his friend would, because otherwise, they'd be stuck up shit creek without a paddle, and Harry didn't want the threat of Greyback hanging over his head. Not when one lunatic - Voldemort, specifically - was enough for Harry to deal with.

"I mean, worst case scenario, he ambushes me in Hogsmeade, I lose my wand, blah blah blah. I _do not_ want to become werewolf dinner, or a werewolf myself."

Neville smiled slightly. "That's understandable, Harry. I don't know anyone who'd want to be. But Merlin, you have the worst luck."

"I already knew that," Harry answered sardonically, "Such is my life, I guess."

Their train ride remained uneventful, occupied with games of cards, of chess, or the occasional break to skim through homework and such things. They were visited sporadically by Susan and Justin, later by Theo and the Slytherin's friend, Blaise, and Harry took the opportunity to catch up on his peers' respective holidays.

They varied. Zabini went to Italy, spent his Yule on his family's vineyard there, drinking wine and inundated by an excessive amount of Italian relatives. Theo spent his with his elderly grandfather. Justin went skiing in Japan, and Susan spent hers with her aunt.

He wondered, morbidly, how many other families Voldemort had destroyed.

Interestingly enough, Malfoy's customary visit was missed, though neither of the Gryffindors were about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Probably sulking about the fact that he's not going to be Lord Black," Neville commented snidely, and to Harry, the loathing was a surprise. Passive and mild-mannered, Neville didn't seem like the type to be so derisive. Harry knew, however, that looks could be deceiving. Thus, he shouldn't have been surprised.

Also, Draco Malfoy _was_ a wanker, and Neville was justified in his opinion of the Slytherin. Malfoy had made Neville's life at Hogwarts miserable, after all.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Harry conceded, "I wonder if he'll make an issue of it."

Neville's expression was flat. "It's Malfoy."

Harry met his gaze, groaned wearily, and grimaced. Of _course_ Draco would make a big deal out of it. Harry probably wouldn't hear the end of the matter, in fact, until they graduated - if ever. It was just that, with other concerns on his mind, Harry didn't think he'd have the patience to tolerate Draco Malfoy, and the silver spoon shoved up his arse.

Chuckling at Harry's expression, Neville shuffled the deck of cards, dealt them each another hand, and they passed the remaining hour to Hogwarts with a game of wizarding poker. Apparently, Neville's Great Uncle had taught it to the LOngbottom heir during the Christmas of 92, Neville had taught it to Harry over the break just passed, and unsurprisingly, the Gryffindor seeker was abysmal.

"When you get better at occlumency, hiding your expressions will become second nature," Neville encouraged. Harry eyed him, perplexed, and he elaborated, "What's the point in protecting your mind, if opponents can just read your thoughts all over your face?"

Harry conceded the point with a nod, they reached Hogsmeade station, and disembarked with the rest of their peers. Their carriage ride was unremarkable, the dementors weren't missed, and Harry made a mental note to ask Lupin about a spell to ward off the depressing creatures. His reaction to them left much to be desired, and Harry didn't want that weakness to be exploited in future.

the beginning of term feast was the same as all those before it, and Harry collapsed into bed later that night, tired. It had been a long, boring day - a prelude to the term ahead - and Harry wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest.

It was perhaps the first time he'd never looked forward to his return to Hogwarts.


	26. Chapter 26

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 26:** _January 27th _

Harry was in the library again. Susan and Theo were with him, tucked away in the Philosophy section, each of them hunched over the same Arithmency homework. Their introduction to the subject had passed, the theoretical overview of numerology and spell crafting left behind with the end of their last term. Professor Vector had begun to introduce them to the nitty gritty details of spell creation, had assigned them the task of dissecting a known spell into its numeric components, and Harry, his hair askew and his eyes bloodshot, had determined that the woman had been a sadist in another life.

In contrast, Susan and Theo seemed to thrive under the challenge set for them, immersed in the task with a focus that might have been alarming if Harry hadn't come to expect it of them. They were both very enthusiastic about Arithmency, had gotten into rather heated debates regarding the matter, and blessedly, they were both willing to help Harry make sense of the subject, too.

The fact was, Harry wasn't a born spell-crafter. His magical affinity laid in defensive and offensive magic, regardless of medium. He was excellent in his wanded classes because of it, but beyond them, his innate understanding of Ancient Runes - and particularly, their relevance to warding and runic casting - was nothing to scoff at, either. He'd read in 'A Potter's Tale' that he wasn't the first Potter similarly inclined, but due to the plainly exhausting workload he'd carried the term before, Harry hadn't spared much thought regarding the matter.

With a groan, Harry dropped his head into his hand, sighed explosively, and squinted at the numeric equations in front of him. He'd chosen to do the 'incendio' spell for his Arithmency project, but somewhere in his equations, he wound up with the 'aguamenti' spell instead, and for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out where he was going wrong.

"Want help?" Susan queried.

"Please."

Harry offered Susan his journal, she scanned through his calculations with a critical eye, and pointed out his mistake with an encouraging grin. "You've got everything else right. You just mixed up the elemental numbers."

"Ugh."

Susan chuckled, and returned the journal to the Gryffindor's waiting hand. "You were overlooking the obvious, Harry. It doesn't have to be so complicated."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Harry answered, tone light, and returned to his project. With Susan's input, however, he was done shortly thereafter, his numeric equations scrawled out on a clear roll of parchment, his 500 word personal reflection written out beneath it.

With the other requisite details taken care of, Harry spelled the parchment dry, rolled it up, and bound it with twine. He was relieved to be done with the project, and Harry opted to enjoy the feeling while it lasted. By the following day, he would once again be immersed in his schoolwork, after all, and such reprieves were few and far between.

With that in mind, Harry packed up his things, got to his feet, and bade his friends a good night. They waved to him in return, Harry retreated from the library, and shivered his way towards Gryffindor Tower. It was near the end of January, Hogwarts Castle was freezing, and the common room was rarely ever so appealing as it was in the middle of winter.

"Did you get your project done?" Neville queried, settled across from Harry in an out of the way corner of the common room. It was crowded, full of harassed O.W.L and N.E.W.T students, of noisy 1st and 2nd years, and a fair number of the other Gryffindors, too. The excess body heat, combined with the merry fire in the hearth, left the tower fairly toasty though, and in the dead of winter, Harry doubted anyone was about to complain.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, "Susan had to help me out, but it's finished, thank Godric."

"That's good," Neville acknowledged, though he didn't pursue the topic further. Instead, he returned to the Transfiguration homework Harry hadn't yet started.

Left to his own devices, Harry withdrew 'A Potter's Tale' from his bag, settled further into the wing backed armchair he'd appropriated as his own, and continued to read up on his family history. The semester previous, he'd mostly skimmed through the text, too busy with his other - academic or extra-curricular - pursuits. His withdrawal from three of his Saturday classes, and the temporary hiatus of quidditch training, had left him a great deal of free time, however, and Harry was determined to learn - and understand - all that his grandfather's portrait had recommended for his future responsibilities.

He came across the term 'magical grey area' again, however, and despite the new outlook on his studies and such things, Harry _still_ didn't know what it meant. Flitwick was more occupied with his practical spell casting, things were still awkward in regards to he and Lupin's contrasting ideals in regards to Dumbledore, and he'd still not gotten around to asking one of his friends. As Harry glanced at Neville, though, he supposed that there was no time like the present.

"Neville?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"What does it mean when people refer to the 'magical grey area?'"

Neville blinked, startled, and carefully set down his quill. Harry closed his book, and waited patiently as Neville sorted out his thoughts.

"There are three different magical areas. There's 'black magic', which is outlawed within the British Empire, and it includes fields such as necromancy, soul magic, and the Unforgiveables. They're considered 'black magic' because of the taint it leaves on a person's mind, magic and their soul. .

"On the other end of the spectrum, there's 'white magic'. It includes most healing magics, and a number of powerful protection spells formed on the basis of unconditional, undying love.

"Finally, there's what you called the 'magical grey area. It is, essentially, all of the forms of magic that can't be defined as 'black' or 'white'. It's divided into 'light' and 'dark', but regardless of shade, each element of magic in the 'grey area' depends on intent."

"Intent?" Harry echoed. He couldn't remember a time where Neville had said so much in one sitting, but it was rather interesting, and Harry was annoyed that he'd not asked his friend sooner.

"Intent," Neville confirmed, "For instance, you can float someone off a cliff as easily as you can float a feather, if you want it enough. The same with an Incendio spell: you can light a fire, or you can burn someone to death. It all depends on what you want, and how much you want it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, mate," Harry answered, nodding thoughtfully, "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem." Neville gave him a smile, picked up his quill, and returned to his Transfiguration homework. Harry opened 'A Potter's Tale' to a page somewhere in the middle, stared blankly at the words printed there, and absorbed all that his friend had told him.

It all seemed rather straightforward, but Harry wondered about the labels of 'light' and 'dark' wizards. In the end, they were all shades of grey, and he wondered if such monikers mattered in the grand scheme of things. It didn't seem as though it should have, and yet, witches and wizards had been segregated into 'light' and 'dark' categories since Harry's first day back within the wizarding world, and generations of prejudice were hard to break besides.

It was something to consider, he supposed.

"You alright?" Neville enquired.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "Just thinking."

"Any questions?"

"Nothing that can't wait," Harry assured. Neville shrugged his acquiescence, Harry contemplated 'A Potter's Tale', and resigned himself to more research. As with his questions, however, his research could wait, and until then, Harry opted to focus on other things.

Before long, curfew fell, and the two third years retreated to their dormitory. Ron was already out like a light, but Dean and Seamus were at their respective study desks, absorbed into their own tasks. Neville and Harry left them to it, Harry readied for bed, and curled beneath his covers with an exhale of relief. When he fell asleep, his thoughts were on the concept of 'light' and 'dark', and he wondered, bleakly, if it were possible to change so many generations of prejudice.

Was it even worth it?


	27. Chapter 27

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 27:** _January 28th_

It was one of the last days of January when Malfoy finally decided to make his displeasure known. Earlier, Harry had idly wondered if the Slytherin had been trying to lure him into a false sense of security, but whether or not that was the case, Harry hadn't dwelled on it. He'd been far too preoccupied with other things, after all, to concern himself with the woes of his schoolyard rival, and as the Slytherin finally confronted him, Harry found that he still didn't care. At all.

The day itself had been fairly standard. A Saturday, Harry had spent his morning in the library, and his afternoon in yet another deportment lesson. An arduous training session with Professor Flitwick had followed, and by the end of it, Harry was famished, and eager for dinner. He'd been on his way there, in fact, when Malfoy had blocked his path, the sanctimonious wanker.

Resigned, Harry stopped in his tracks, sighed impatiently, and glared. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I demand an Honour Dual," said Draco, expression indecipherable. There was loathing, certainly, and no small degree of arrogance, but there was something else too - something dangerous - and Harry's shoulders stiffened, wary.

"On what grounds?" Harry retorted. Neville, who'd come from the Great Hall when he'd caught wind of the commotion, drifted to Harry's side, and waited patiently.

As he did, Harry thought over what he knew of Honour Duals. He'd researched them extensively after the trophy room fiasco of his first year, but more recently, Professor Flitwick had explained to him the finer details, too. Harry knew that he could refuse on the grounds of differing social status - he was even tempted to - but if he did, it would call into question his own honour, and Harry was uncertain of whether or not his (relative) wellbeing was worth that indignity - not to mention the long term ramifications.

And then, of course, there was his pride, which Harry had in spades.

"I find it _offensive_ that a _halfblood_ has been named heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black."

"Well, I find it _offensive_ that a descendant of Norman peasants is questioning my worth as the Black heir," Harry retorted. The crowds surrounding them, lower year students of all four houses, collectively oohed, and Malfoy grew flustered. Harry wasn't pleased by the attention either, though he wasn't sure what the Slytherin had honestly expected in the middle of the Entrance Hall.

"Do you accept, Potter?"

Harry's gaze scanned their onlookers, found Theo in the crowd, and arched an expectant eyebrow. Theo nodded once, Harry nodded his acknowledgement, and turned back to his adversary.

"Name your terms, Malfoy."

The Slytherin did so, a satisfied smirk on his face. Harry reciprocated afterwards, they each named their seconds - Neville for Harry, Crabbe for Malfoy - and a location was organised. It was a far cry from the juvenile posturing of their first year,but all the same, Harry thought it rather ironic that once again, the trophy room was their location of choice, though at dawn this time around.

Eventually, the terms were agreed upon, Harry and Draco shook hands (reluctantly), and the students went their separate ways.

"Do you think you're prepared for it?" Neville enquired. They'd entered the Great Hall by then, seated at the Gryffindor house table, and surrounded by peers.

Harry didn't know. He was able to hold his own against Professor Flitwick for five minutes, but he wasn't certain how that would correlate against a fellow third year. He also didn't know how much duelling experience Malfoy had - if any - but at the end of the day, all Harry could do was try his best, and to let the cards fall where they may.

At the very least, Harry wasn't at risk of compromising his status as Sirius' heir presumptive, or as the heir apparent of the House of Potter. He'd have refused, otherwise, consequences be damned. That kind of power in Draco Malfoy's hands? Over his dead body.

Small favours, he supposed.

"I guess I'll find out," he acknowledged, served himself some dinner, and added, "I'll have to talk with Theo."

"Probably a good idea," Neville concurred, "He'll likely have information regarding Malfoy's abilities, if nothing else."

Harry made to reply with his agreement, but before he could, Hermione dropped into the seat across from him, and glared.

Harry eyed her, puzzled. "What?"

"Did you not learn from _last_ time, Harry James Potter?"

As Harry frowned, he also marvelled at how quickly news travelled. He wasn't impressed, however, with Hermione's confrontational attitude, and also with the fact that she'd jumped directly towards the wrong conclusions. Furthermore, he wasn't impressed that she'd chosen to act upon those conclusions without acquiring all of the facts.

"Do you understand the concept of an Honour Dual, Hermione?"

The girl bristled, straightened her back, and glowered at Neville. She seemed insulted by the perceived slight to her intelligence, but Neville continued speaking, heedless of her expression. He'd come a long way from the timid boy of years prior, and it had never been more obvious.

"Draco Malfoy called into question Harry's worth as the heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. He called for an Honour Dual to prove his superiority, and such insults should _never_ be taken lightly; _especially_ not by Harry. To refuse was to call into question his own honour, and those slights are _never_ forgotten."

"They're banned in Hogwarts, and furthermore, do you _not_ remember what happened _last_ time?"

Harry grimaced. "I'm certain I could never forget it, Hermione. You didn't need to remind me. With that said, _that_ particular incident has no bearing on the current circumstances. Disregarding the fact that last time wasn't even genuine, there's a lot more at stake now. It's not just a schoolyard grudge anymore: he's made it political, and personal."

"How?"

Harry sighed. He really wasn't interested in explaining what he'd, somehow, had interpreted without conscious thought. The fact was, Malfoy had said he was unworthy of the status of Sirius' heir on the grounds that Harry was a halfblood. To refuse the dual, regardless of the disparities in social status, would imply that Harry thought _himself_ unworthy - or something like it. Given the current prejudice in regards to blood status, among other things, it would be a boon for the pureblood agenda that Harry couldn't - and wouldn't - chance. He already had too much to worry about, after all, and at least once the dual was done, he wouldn't have to worry about it further.

Neville explained it instead. Harry cast his friend a grateful glance, ate his dinner in contemplative silence, and afterwards, he excused himself from the table, and left the hall. Neville accompanied him, and slowly, they wandered towards he and Theo's usual practise room.

Unsurprisingly, Theo was already there, waiting.

"What is he playing at?" Harry questioned, bitter.

"He wants you humiliated," Theo answered, "Once the conservatives to call into question your worth as Heir Black." He doesn't realise you've been mentored by Professor Flitwick since September."

"Has he had any training?" Neville queried, his expression curiously bland.

"Only the basics. You're a great deal quicker than him, and your spell repertoire is better, too. You shouldn't have a problem. He won't _dare_ cheat - not in an Honour Dual. If he does, he can kiss his own reputation goodbye. You should probably have your house elf - Totsy? - monitor the trophy room tonight though. Just in case."Harry nodded in acknowledgement of his friend's words, and the trio spoke for a time. Before long, however, curfew drew near, and the Gryffindors retreated towards their common room, thoughts already on the following dawn.

**Author's Note:** I didn't initially plan for a dual, but Draco Malfoy's self-importance knows no bounds. Sigh.

What are your thoughts? I hope this was interesting, and actually made sense. When I started writing 'Resolution', I'd not intended to introduce politics until fifth year - late 4th year, at the earliest - but as I said, Draco Malfoy is out of control.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	28. Chapter 28

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty Eight:** _January 28 - 29_

Wizards duels between amateurs were awkward. Duels between experts were generally a chaotic exchange of unspoken spells and evasive manoeuvres, and the occasional conversation, too. In contrast, duels between amateurs generally consisted of a pair of wizards taking turns flinging spells at each other, with the hope that one would eventually hit.

Suffice to say, Harry wasn't particularly anticipating his.

"Do you think he'll cheat?"

Harry glanced up from the fireplace, carded a hand through his hair, and shrugged. His Great Aunt Cassiopeia would have glared her disapproval, but with his thoughts on the confrontation to come, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he contemplated what he knew about Draco Malfoy, which, upon reflection, was not much at all, and sighed.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Harry conceded, "With the possible repercussions though, it's hard to say."

Neville nodded his agreement, but offered Harry an encouraging grin. "If Malfoy cheats, I'll make sure everyone knows it. Hopefully, he's smart enough to recognise the consequences if he _does_."

Harry snorted, derisive. "Have you ever known Draco Malfoy to do _anything_ smart in regards to Gryffindors, Neville?"

Neville conceded the point with a nod and a reluctant grin. "Touche."

Nearby, Dean set down his homework. Neville had been helping Dean and Seamus with their Herbology, but that had been an hour ago, and Dean had grown bored. "Are you nervous?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. Even with all the social repercussions an honour duel guaranteed, it was hard to feel nervous about it. Not when basilisks, Voldemort, and even Professor Flitwick, offered more of a threat than Draco Malfoy ever could. It was overconfident, perhaps - even arrogant, to a certain degree - but it was hard _not_ to feel that way. "Not really. Maybe I will later."

"You'll trounce him," Seamus acknowledged, "Stupid wanker will deserve it, too."

"Of course he will," Neville agreed. Harry couldn't decide if he'd been referring to Malfoy, or to Harry himself, and the Potter scion didn't ask. Instead, he gathered up his things, bade his friends a good night, and retreated to his dorm room. He wasn't sure if he'd actually be able to get to sleep, but he'd have to be up before dawn, and Harry figured there was no harm in trying. Thus, he readied for bed and set an alarm, climbed beneath his covers, and was out like a light.

-!- -#-

It took Harry about 25 seconds after he'd woken up to regret the fact their duel was before dawn. At the end of January, in the Scottish highlands, before the sun was up, the temperature was freezing, and inside a draughty stone castle, it was even colder. To back out was cowardice, however, and though a lot of things could be said about him, cowardice wasn't one of them.

"Bloody hell," Neville muttered, bundled up and shivering, "I thought snakes were supposed to hate the cold."

"That's not funny," Harry replied, though he was chuckling, and Neville's grin was unapologetic, "Do you reckon we should take the cloak?"

"And risk getting it confiscated?" Neville replied, "I don't think so. We should probably just go the old fashioned way."

Harry nodded his acquiescence, approached the portrait hole, and stepped into the corridor beyond. Neville followed suit, and the pair reached the trophy room without ado. When they did, Totsy popped into existence beside Harry, and Neville nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Merlin, Totsy," Neville gasped,You scared the life out of me."

"Totsy is being sorry," she replied, "Totsy is also being reporting to Master Harry, there is being no mischief in the night."

"Alright, Totsy," Harry acknowledged, still chuckling at Neville's expense, "Thanks for doing this. You can go get some rest now."

His house elf popped out of sight, Harry slumped into a corner, and yawned. He was conditioned to early mornings, but he wasn't fond of the cold, and neither was he fond of waiting. It was, however, an unfortunate necessity, and Harry wasn't about to risk his - and Sirius' - honour besides.

"What's the time?" Neville queried.

Harry glanced at his watch. It was an old, beat up time piece he'd salvaged from Dudley's second bedroom, and Harry had no reason to replace it. It wasn't broken, after all, and without any sentimental value, the Gryffindor wouldn't be fussed if it was damaged.

"It's a quarter past five," Harry determined, shoved his hands under his arms, and contemplated the trophies in the light of his wand. "We _did_ say 20 past, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Neville confirmed, "Maybe he ran into Filch."

Harry chuckled. If that was the case, the irony would kill him. "Maybe he decided to back out."

"Maybe he's plotting ways to secretly kill you."

"Maybe he's telling his father."

They met gazes and laughed, the snorting, irrepressible kind that made Harry's stomach ache. There was no reason to, really, but even as he tried, Harry couldn't stop laughing, and neither could his friend.

"That… that wouldn't surprise me," Neville chortled.

Harry wiped away tears of mirth, employed his meagre occluamency skills to collect himself, and breathed deeply. "Where are they?"

Neville shrugged. "I don't know."

Outside, the sound of shuffling footsteps neared the door. It opened marginally, Crabbe squeezed through the opening, and Malfoy followed a few moments later. Neville cleared his throat in the silence, Harry stepped from his place in the shadows, and between the four, the tension was palpable.

"Should we go over the terms, then?" Neville queried. Harry, as he rolled his familiar holly and phoenix feather wand between his thumb and forefinger, nodded jerkily, and Malfoy did the same. The blonde didn't take his eyes off of Harry; wary and guarded and hateful, and Harry kept his own gaze on the blonde, disturbed by the amount of loathing in Malfoy's expression. He'd seen it in Snape; in Voldemort and in a young Tom Riddle, but it seemed wrong - _out of place_ - on the juvenile features of a fellow 13 year old boy.

"Shield, petrification, stunning, binding, and disarming spells only," Harry intoned flatly.

"The first to yield, to be incapacitated, or to be disarmed loses," Malfoy contributed.

"Opponents may each only use one wand," Harry added.

"Regardless of outcome, the duel is not to be talked about afterwards, and the slight shall be settled."

It had been a stipulation Harry had insisted on. He didn't need the scrutiny, and furthermore, he definitely didn't want to put up with _another_ honour duel. Malfoy had acquiesced, albeit begrudgingly, and there was only one more term.

"The prize is satisfaction, and nothing more."

It was another term Harry had insisted on. Otherwise, Malfoy would have been able to contest Harry's designation as the Lord Black's heir presumptive, and in retrospect, Harry wondered if that was what Malfoy had wanted in the first place.

It wouldn't have surprised him, in all honesty.

"Good," Neville acknowledged, clapped his hands together once, and pointed out the temporary square Harry had had Totsy outline the night before. "That's the duelling platform. Keep in mind, if you take one step out of line, you're immediately forfeit."

"Of course," Harry acknowledged, took a few steps inwards from a corner of the square, and watched as Malfoy did the same across from him.

As he did so, Neville stepped up behind Harry, scrutinised the Slytherin briefly, and queried, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, adjusted the grip of his wand in his hand, and waited.

""Alright," Neville began, projecting his voice, "Since you're not starting at the centre… Bow."

Harry did so, neither deeply or shallowly, but enough to appear respectful, and most certainly not enough to lose sight of his opponent. Then they both straightened up, and Neville spoke again.

"Begin."

Malfoy's first volley went wide. Harry's spells were blocked by the Slytherin's conjured shield. The blonde was actually fairly good, his spells quick and his shield sturdy, but his aim was off, and Harry used it to his advantage. He moved consistently, throwing off Malfoy's aim, and when the Slytherin was flustered, Harry moved onto the offence.

After that, the duel was embarrassingly short. Malfoy was stunned into unconsciousness, and as per the terms, he lost. Harry revived him, Neville determined the outcome, Crabbe reluctantly concurred, and the two groups went their separate ways.

"I was kind of waiting for that all term," Neville admitted. "It was… anticlimactic."

"I know," Harry acknowledged, "I just… something tells me it's not the last duel I'll have with Draco Malfoy."

Neville met Harry's gaze, his expression grim. "You really think so? You think he will?"

Harry shrugged, his expression bleak. "I don't know."

And the uncertainty, Harry knew, would plague him. All he could do, however, was to wait and see. Perhaps he'd be wrong, but the loathing on Malfoy's face was unmistakeable, and Harry couldn't forget it. He wouldn't let himself.

**Author's Note:** Rather anticlimactic, right?It was never going to be a huge thing, however. Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for all of your support. Until next time, -t.


	29. Chapter 29

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty Nine: **_**February 1st - 17th **_

Once again, Harry found himself in the library with Susan. As per usual, they were tucked away in the Philosophy section, and between bites of his smuggled apple and Susan's chocolate frog, and as they procrastinated with regards to an essay set by McGonagall, Harry assisted Susan with her Ancient Runes, and Susan assisted Harry with his Arithmency. Normally, Theo made an effort to join them, but that afternoon, he'd begged off with the excuse that he was in need of Blaise Zabini's Potions expertise, and both had understood.

With regards to Potions, Zabini was probably the best in their year. It drove hermione and a select number of Ravenclaws mental, but it was undeniable, and if Harry cared the slightest for his Potions grades, he'd probably be seeking Zabini's aid, too. As it was, Snape was borderline failing him, and Harry had given up on trying to please the greasy bastard ages ago.

"Guess what?"

Harry eyed Susan, mildly wary. She'd adopted that bright eyed, giggly look that Lavender and Parvati got when they'd acquired a new piece of gossip, and that generally spelled trouble for any unfortunate male in their vicinity.

"What?"

"Wayne asked me to Hogsmeade for Valentine's Day!"

"Um, okay?"

Wayne Hopkins was another Hufflepuff in their year. He was fairly quiet, and his closest friend was Ernie MacMillan. Harry didn't know him well, and he'd probably had one conversation with the other third year, but apparently, he fancied Susan, and Harry wasn't really sure how he should feel about that.

Mostly, he was just confused about why she was telling him. It was his understanding that such topics were reserved for conversations between girl friends, and as Harry had observed, Susan had no shortage of those.

"Harry, I've been hoping he'd ask me since _September_!"

"O-kay," Harry acknowledged, "I'm happy for you?"

As Susan began to babble about how Wayne had asked her, and what she hoped would happen on their date, and what she thought she might wear, Harry spaced out, and considered the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Sirius had signed his permission slip over the winter holidays, and thus, Harry would actually be going, but he wondered if he should take a date, too.

He was doubtful, but it seemed a number of his classmates had dates, and Harry didn't want to be considered an oddity once again. As it was, Seamus had plans with Lavender, and Dean had plans with Parvati, and even Theo had lunch plans with a girl in Slytherin by the name of Tracey Davis.

it bared further consideration, but as Susan asked about his own Valentine's Day plans, Harry determined that now was neither the time, nor the place.

"I didn't have anything in mind," Harry admitted, "I don't really fancy anyone, you know?"

Susan shrugged. "Maybe think about it? No one likes to be alone, after all.""

Harry grunted. So long as he didn't receive another singing valentine, he was pretty sure he didn't care either way. Susan was likely to pester him ceaselessly if he admitted that, however, and thus he kept quiet instead, returned his attention to his Ancient Runes homework, and sighed an internal breath of relief when the Hufflepuff followed suit.

He was distracted some time later by the appearance of Professor Lupin in the Philosophy section.

The Defence Professor had not visited in a while, and although Harry wasn't certain if it was because he'd found what he'd been searching for, or because he was avoiding Harry, the Gryffindor had reasoned that it was none of his business. Regardless, he was left oddly flatfooted by Lupin's reappearance, and Susan was no help whatsoever.

"Back again, Professor Lupin?"

"I am," Lupin acknowledged lightly, "I've been pondering a lot of 'big questions' recently."

"Ugh," Susan grimaced, "How can you deal with it, Professor? I hate not having definitive answers for _anything_."

"You learn to appreciate them over time," he answered, "It's all a matter of perspective, I believe."

Lupin met Harry's gaze then, and Harry got the impression he was referring to a lot more than just Philosophy. Their last serious conversation weighed heavy between them, and Harry bowed his head in acknowledgement of the man's words. They left him with a lot to think about, and suddenly, Ancient Runes wasn't nearly as riveting as it had been only a few moments earlier.

"Are you okay?" Susan queried. Lupin was gone.

Harry managed a smile. "Why wouldn't I be?""

Susan eyed him, unconvinced, but she didn't pursue the matter. Harry, meanwhile, tried and failed to focus on his homework, eventually conceded defeat, and withdrew a novel to pass the time.

-!- -#-

"You've gotten much better," Professor Flitwick commended, "I'm impressed by your elemental charms."

Harry managed a smile. He was breathless, having just had his arse handed to him (again), but his Charms Professor's compliments were always appreciated, and it was always nice to know others could see his improvement. He'd worked hard to reach his current skill level, and although he was by no means an expert, he was far better than when he'd started. These days, he could hold his own against Professor Flitwick for upwards of seven minutes, and the Ravenclaw Head of House had very few critiques regarding his form.

Given that he'd been absolutely abysmal to begin with, the acknowledgement was rather gratifying.

"There's always room for improvement, of course, but that will come with time - and practice, naturally. How have you found that tome I loaned you?"

Harry spared a moment to consider his answer. The 'Compendium of Curses' by Phalanx Dacios was predominantly a spell book, from which he'd learned a variety of jinxes, hexes, and curses. From what Harry understood, the content spanned the entirety of what was recognised as the 'magical grey area' without prejudice, and although he'd been initially wary, Harry had taken to the magic with startling ease. He never used the spells outside of practice, because in Hogwarts, he had no reason to. That said, he'd learned an extensive amount of the book's theoretical content, and a growing amount of its practical content, too.

"It's quite interesting," Harry determined, "A lot of those spells are designed for wide-range combat though; as opposed to a one-on-one duel."

"Indeed," Flitwick agreed, "In my experience, however, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had a certain fondness for outnumbering their opponents. I believe it would behoove you to learn spells for any kind of combative scenario. Have you ever considered Battle Transfiguration? Transmutation, perhaps? It isn't a well known fact, but Professor McGonagall is quite accomplished in both fields."

"I had considered it," Harry admitted, "I just didn't have the time. Maybe next year, if things aren't so chaotic, I'll ask, but for now, I figure I'll focus on what I'm already working on."

"That is perhaps for the best," Flitwick acknowledged, "In any case, it is your choice to make. Just know that you _do_ have options."

Harry's smile was small. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor. Thanks, though."

"Don't mention it, Harry. Now, how do you feel about another duel?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Flitwick's grin was all teeth. "Not in the slightest."

Harry grimaced, dodged the disarming spell sent his way, and shielded himself against the steady barrage of minor jinxes and hexes that followed. He retaliated when he could, but for the most part, Flitwick kept him on the defensive, and until Harry was disarmed, that was where he stayed.

Room for improvement, indeed.

."

-!- -#-

Even in the midst of February, Hogsmeade looked like a gingerbread village come to life. It was all rustic cottages and storefronts, with snow covered roofs and streets paved by sandstone. It was quaint - like a postcard picture, or a travel magazine's Christmas special - and despite himself, Harry was amused.

"The Three Broomsticks is packed," Neville muttered, "No surprise, there."

"Is there Anywhere else we can go?" Harry queried, hands buried in his pockets, face in his scarf. "It's bloody freezing."

Neville hesitated. "There's the Hog's Head, I guess."

Harry shivered. "Sounds good. Lead the way."

The Hog's Head was, more or less, the antithesis of the Three Broomsticks. Where the latter was warm and welcoming, the former was decrepit and dreary, with questionable clientele and a cantankerous bartender. It was out of the cold though, and it sold warm apple cinnamon ciders, and Harry supposed he couldn't complain.

Seated at the bar, Harry sipped at his drink, picked at a bowl of chips, and watched disinterestedly as Neville fiddled with a galleon. His attention, however, was diverted by the distasteful rambling of a vagrant two stools down, who seemed to have something against werewolves, and one werewolf in particular.

"Word is, Greyback's headed this way, the mongrel. Hope he knows that when he gets here, he'll be met with a lot more than just innocent children to bite. The Ministry should have put that beast - and the rest of his kind - down years ago. They're a plague on society!"

The stranger's rant continued, but Harry tuned him out, and instead turned to Neville, expression grim. The news wasn't much of a surprise, but it was still unwelcome, and Harry was uncertain of how he ought to proceed. The irony was that there was an entire school full of children that Fenrir Greyback could take chunks out of, and Harry wondered what the man - beast? - was playing at.

Perhaps he'd simply lost his mind.

Either way, the wizarding community would have his head for encroaching on Hogwarts territory.

"Should probably let Theo know, at least," Neville reasoned. "He probably has as much cause to watch his back as you do."

"The teachers, too," Harry contributed. Wryly, he added, "Though I can't guarantee they'll actually listen."

He recalled, vividly, his conversation with Professor McGonagall from years earlier: their warning, her dismissal, and the life threatening adventure that had followed. He didn't hold his head of house at fault, though he knew beyond reasonable doubt that the entire debacle could have been dealt with a lot more quietly if she'd only listened.

Spilt milk, he supposed, and opted not to dwell on it. Instead, he finished the rest of his cider, ate the last of his chips, and walked with Neville back to the castle. As he did, the dagger tucked into his boot weighed heavy on his mind, and Harry dreaded the day he would have to use it. Now more than ever, it felt like an inevitability, and the thought left him hollow.

Was he prepared for that sort of confrontation?

Harry didn't think so.

**Author's Note:** An update, really? Hope you enjoyed.

I've been working through the chapters from the beginning, editing, and plugging in plot holes, and what have you. The chapters with titles are those that have been reposted. If you read them, I hope they're worth your time.

Anyway, that's all. Apologies for the wait. Thanks for your support. Until next time, -t.


	30. Chapter 30

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Thirty: February 17th**

"Do you think he's back in the castle yet?" Neville queried."

Harry shook his head, no. Theo had informed Harry of his plans with Tracey, and although Harry had been far from interested, he'd registered enough to know that the two Slytherins wouldn't return until early evening. That was, of course, provided nothing went wrong, but Harry opted not to concern himself with that possibility. It was none of his business, after all, and neither did he want it to be.

"He won't be back until later. Let's go tell a teacher, yeah?"

Neville shrugged his acquiescence, and queried wryly, "Which one?"

They hesitated in the Entrance Hall, and each considered the possibilities. Snape was out of the question, unsurprisingly, but if the rest of the core faculty was to be taken into consideration, that left McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Lupin. They each had their benefits and drawbacks, but eventually, the two Gryffindors settled on simply telling the first teacher they found.

Perhaps ironically, that person happened to be Professor Lupin. Things hadn't yet been resolved with the man - not completely, anyway - but some things took precedent over a difference of opinion, and Harry didn't have the time or inclination to be picky.

"Can we speak with you a minute, Professor?" Neville requested. "It's important."

Lupin eyed them speculatively for a moment, nodded, and led the way to his office. He had yet another weird magical creature stored away for class, but as Harry dropped himself into an available seat, and as Neville did the same nearby, Harry paid it no heed. Instead, he contemplated what he ought to tell the man, carded a hand through his hair, and exhaled roughly.

Meanwhile, Neville firmed his resolve, and took the brutally honest approach. "Professor, we have reason to believe that Fenrir Greyback is on his way to Hogwarts."

Lupin simultaneously blanched and reeled backwards in his seat. He collected himself admirably quickly, however, cleared his throat, and briefly, longingly contemplated an empty tumbler on his desk. Then he shook himself, breathed slowly, and addressed them both.

"What makes you think that, Neville? Harry?"

"That'll be because of me, Professor," Harry contributed, and without prompting, proceeded with the explanation of his encounter with Greyback in August, and later, his encounter with Sanguini over the winter holidays. He concluded with what he and Neville had overheard in the Hog's Head, and when he was done, he sighed a breath of relief that the telling was over.

After the Dowager Lady Longbottom, and before her, even, Harry hadn't had any intention of telling anyone about it, really. Until now, anyway. Because now, he wasn't the only one in trouble. Circumstances had changed, Greyback had likely lost the plot, and if reliving those nightmares could help keep his peers safe, then he could live with a few moments of personal discomfort.

How could he do anything less?

There was a brief flash of animalistic fury on his face, but again, the man collected himself impressively fast, took a moment to calm down, and stared out of his window as he did so. Then he sighed, briefly eyed his tumbler once again, and determined, "I think it's time we spoke with Headmaster Dumbledore."

-!- -#-

Harry didn't hate Albus Dumbledore. He wasn't particularly _fond_ of the man, and the general public's blind faith in him made Harry exceedingly uncomfortable, but hatred would require an opinion, and that was something Harry didn't have.

He was, more or less, apathetic. At least, with regards to the man himself. With regards to the way he ran Hogwarts? That was a different matter entirely.

Suffice to say, Dumbledore had dropped the ball on that front, and World War I veterans weren't the only wizards disappointed with what Hogwarts had become. Nevertheless, Harry could see the reason behind Lupin's decision, though he didn't much like it. He didn't complain, however. Instead, he trailed behind Lupin, and Neville stayed by his side.

"What do you think he'll do?" Neville queried.

Harry didn't have the foggiest idea. He wasn't holding his breath, however. Age and acquired wisdom aside, this was the same man who'd allowed a cerberus and a troll in the castle, who'd not closed the school when it was under threat of a basilisk, and who'd done essentially nothing against the threat of dementors on their doorstep.

The latter, Harry wilfully admitted, wasn't Dumbledore's fault, but the teen remembered - quite vividly - the ill-fated quidditch game that had lost him his broom.

Surely, there was something Dumbledore could have done to guarantee his students' safety?

Then again, perhaps there wasn't.

"Your guess is as good as mine, Nev," Harry answered, and in front of them, Lupin reached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. The password was uttered, the spiral staircase was ascended, and Lupin raised a fist to knock.

On the other side of the door, Dumbledore preempted him. "Enter."

Lupin did so, and the two Gryffindors reluctantly trailed in behind him. Unsurprisingly, Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, elbows propped on the aged wood, fingers steepled in front of him. He gazed at them over his half moon spectacles, a benign smile on his face, and Harry suppressed the reflex to card a hand through his hair.

Despite himself, he was nervous.

"Headmaster," Lupin greeted, and gestured for the teens to seat themselves in the available chairs. They did so in silence, and waited. "Harry and Neville have come to me with some… concerning news."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore queried, and his smile dimmed.

"It concerns the safety of the school," Lupin continued, "And I'm inclined to believe them."

Dumbledore arched a snowy eyebrow, and turned his cornflower gaze on Harry and Neville. Both avoided direct eye contact, and upon Dumbledore's prompting, Harry explained once again.

Afterwards, they sat in silence.

"As much as I commend you for your stellar display of honour and courage, Harry, this news is troubling, indeed."

Harry bit back an acerbic, and entirely unnecessary, retort, nodded his agreement, and sighed a quiet breath of relief when both he and Neville were dismissed. They'd passed on the message, and the problem for the school's safety was out of their hands.

And still, Harry worried.

"Is it my fault, Neville?"

Neville came to a screeching halt beside Harry, and the latter belatedly followed suit. He looked at his broader friend, who seemed aghast that he'd asked, and eyed him, confused by the delay.

"Are you mad, harry? Of course it's not your fault, you dolt. The responsibility lays at Greyback's feet, and no one else's."

"But if I-"

"If you hadn't, then Theo would be dead," Neville answered, and the brutal honesty was enough to derail Harry from his spiral into self-loathing and pity. A part of harry still blamed himself, certainly, but it wasn't all-consuming, and Harry wouldn't let it define him.

Not again, and not when his actions had saved Theo's life.

"Right," Harry acknowledged, cleared his throat, and added, "Thanks, Neville."

"No problem," Neville replied, and they continued on their way, "What are friends for?"

-!- -#-

When Harry found Theo that evening, the latter was playing a solo game of gobstones in the classroom they'd appropriated as a training room, but one that was also used when either of them wanted some time away from the rest of the school. More often than not, Theo just used it to get away from Draco Malfoy, but Harry had taken advantage of the quietude a time or two, and he wasn't about to begrudge his friend his solitude.

That said, he was mildly concerned by the expression on the taller Slytherin's features. It was a strange combination of resigned acceptance, and despair, and Harry had no idea what to make of it.

"Theo?"

"Hullo," Theo greeted, tone weary.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." Harry stared, unconvinced, and Theo relented. "Nothing I'm prepared to talk about."

With a nod of concession, Harry dropped into an available chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and yawned, exhausted despite himself. He considered ways he could tell the Slytherin, and eventually determined that there was no easy way of doing so.

"Neville and I overheard some information in the Hog's Head today. It's about Greyback."

Without conscious thought, Theo's hand reached towards the throwing knife he kept strapped to his left forearm, and Harry looked away. He felt guilty - again - and this time, he wasn't sure if it was because Greyback was headed to Hogwarts, or because he was inadvertently bursting Theo's bubble of unwitting bliss.

"What is it?"

Harry answered, and Theo went a disturbing shade of pale. He looked sickly, actually, and Harry warily watched to make sure his friend wasn't about to vomit, or pass out, or to fall into a state of shock. He wasn't sure if the latter was possible, but neither did he want to find out.

Harry didn't have to worry though, because after the surprise wore off, Theo got angry, and his fist had an unceremonious meeting with the wall. The Slytherin's unintelligible cry of unrelenting fury became a litany of pained expletives in English, Italian and French. Meanwhile, Harry took hold of his friend's shoulder, and led the familiar way to the infirmary.

When the alternative was a state of incandescent fury, Harry was almost certain he'd have preferred the shock.

**Author's Note:** I feel this update could be stronger, but I want to flesh out some plot points in earlier chapters before I rectify it. Hope you enjoyed anyway.

Otherwise, thank you all for your support. Seriously, although I love it, I probably would have given up on this story ages ago without you guys. #commitmentissues

To the cryptic guest reviewer, can you please explain to me what turkey has to do with marshmallows and flames?

Until next time, -t.


	31. Chapter 31

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Thirty One: march 18th - 22nd**

Harry couldn't speak for Theo, but the paranoia was getting to him. These days, every unexplainable shadow was a threat, every rustle of wind on his neck was the whisper of pungent breath against his skin, and with every night that passed, Fenrir Greyback drew ever nearer. It was exhausting, and Harry was fairly certain he'd acquired a crick in his neck from how often he'd looked over his shoulder, and yet, life went on, the world kept turning, and nothing had changed.

"What do you know about Greyback?" Harry queried. He was seated on one of the school's available balconies, feet perched on the stone railing, gaze on the pale blue sky overhead. Winter had drawn to a close, and with it's end, Oliver Wood had restarted training with a vengeance.

Naturally, the rest of the quidditch team had been dragged along for the ride. It had swallowed up much of his free time, but he'd grown close with his team over the years, and their company was welcome. The early mornings, the windburn, and Oliver's tangents, however, were not.

"Why?" Theo questioned, gaze squinted against the sunlight, his personal Arithmency journal in his lap. He'd already started with a few basic spell creation attempts, but thus far, they'd each been met with little success. His friend, however, was not deterred.

"Know thy enemy," Harry quoted, "Enlighten me?"

After a moment's contemplation, Theo acquiesced with a shrug, closed his journal, and leant back against the stone behind him.

"He likes to turn young children," take them in as his pack, and convert them to his 'us against them' mentality. No one knows how old he is, but he's trained in magic, and the general consensus is that he was turned sometime after he finished school. It's also assumed that Fenrir Greyback isn't his real name, though if that's the case, there's no telling what _is_."

"What about his pack? Do you know much about them?"

"not really. They're very insular, and although a fair few werewolves who _don't_ buy into Greyback's mentality have tried to gather information, they've not been very successful. What's known is that As of December, 1992, there are at least 23 werewolves in Greyback's pack, and there's no telling how many he's bitten since.

"Also, he's patient. He watches, gathers information, and waits. If it's revenge, then he'll _always_ attack on the full moon. If it's standard 'hunting', than he'll attack in human form, and he'll leave visible scars behind. A calling card, if you will. Also, it's weird."

"What is?"

"Without the influence of wolfsbane, most werewolves are mindless during the full moon. Greyback though… It's like his human mind is so completely mixed with the wolf's, so it doesn't matter what form he's in: he'll _always_ have control over his actions."

"Do you think he's watching us now?" Harry queried, a wry tilt to his smile.

Theo was entirely serious when he answered, "I have no doubt about it."

Harry didn't let himself contemplate Theo's answers, and instead focused on his assignments. The teachers had inundated the Hogwarts student body with assessment, and as the mid-semester break drew nearer, tensions were high. Not only were assignments due in, but the Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch match was a week away, and the amount of resulting violence had reached new heights. Also, NEWT and OWL exams drew close, which guaranteed the 5th and 7th years were in a tailspin, and although it didn't affect Harry directly, he was frequently left wondering if he would wind up the unfortunate witness of a meltdown, courtesy of Angelina and/or Alicia.

On top of the Fenrir Greyback mess, it made for a stressful time, and Harry didn't think he'd ever looked forward to a school holiday so much in his life. He wasn't going home - wherever that was, these days - but for a week, it would be nice not to have to worry about classes, or homework, or Oliver's quidditch madness.

"Do you think Dumbledore's done anything?"

"If he has, it's not obvious," Harry replied, "And I doubt he'd tell me."

Harry was a student of Hogwarts, after all, and Dumbledore's responsibility besides. The last two school years notwithstanding, he had no real business knowing details regarding the school's security. More or less an amateur concerning magic, that kind of information would make him a liability, and it was a hefty burden to bear. He was glad he didn't know, but still, he wondered.

Was Hogwarts prepared for Fenrir Greyback?

Was he?

-!- -#-

At the end of yet another Defence Against the Dark Arts class,, Harry approached Lupin's desk, his arms weighted down with books. They were the texts Lupin had loaned Harry earlier that year, and after five months, Harry was fairly certain he'd learned all he could from their pages. Moreover, it felt somewhat awkward to hold onto them while things were so uncertain between them.

"Harry," Lupin greeted, eyed the texts in Harry's arms with a wry smile, and observed, "Finished with those already?"

"Yes, Professor," he confirmed, "I figured you'd like them back."

Lupin nodded absently, deposited them on his desk, and settled back in the seat behind it. He contemplated Harry for a time, eyebrows furrowed in thought, and then sighed wearily.

"Professor?"

"Will you sit, Harry?"

Harry nodded, dragged one of the student chairs over, and dropped his book bag by his feet. Then he sat, clasped his hands in his lap, and waited.

"There is much that Albus Dumbledore has done for me over the years," Lupin began, "And it is very easy to forget that not all have had such support. I would like to apologise for my behaviour in previous meetings, and moreover, to acknowledge that you have every reason to be skeptical regarding Dumbledore's character. In fact, I commend you for it. In this world, one should never take anything at face value…"

Lupin trailed off then, his expression regretful. Harry wondered if his thoughts were on Sirius, though he didn't ask. Instead, he offered the werewolf a smile and a nonchalant shrug, and offered up an apology of his own. "I'm sorry I didn't respect your opinion. I understand that everyone is entitled to their own, but it seemed I forgot for a while."

Lupin shrugged, and answered sagely, "It happens."

Harry grinned, a weight off his shoulders, and queried, "Was that all, Professor?"

"Not quite," Lupin answered, "Though I do recognise that I'm holding you from your lunch. Will you stop by my office after classes today?"

"Sure," Harry acquiesced, gathered his bag and returned the chair to it's rightful place, and approached the door. He bade Lupin a good afternoon, left the classroom, and made his way to the Great Hall.

-!- -#-

"You're ditching me," Susan determined, "i see how it is. You don't love me anymore!"

"You're mental, Sue," Harry answered, laughing, and shuffled out of the Arithmency classroom behind Theo, "How does Hopkins feel about having a girlfriend whose bonkers?"

"He likes my crazy," Susan replied, "But in all seriousness, do you know why Lupin wants to see you?"

"No idea." If Harry had to guess, however, Greyback seemed a likely reason. Or Sirius, though if it was the latter, Harry couldn't fathom why his godfather wouldn't just contact him by owl. "Guess I'll find out though. Hey, maybe I'll even let you know."

"You'd better," Susan laughed, "Especially if he's giving pointers for the DADA exam in May."

"Not bloody likely, Red."

"A girl can dream, right?"

Harry shrugged, and tugged the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. They'd reached the point where their paths diverged, Susan bade him the best of luck, and while she followed Theo towards the library, Harry made his way towards Professor Lupin's office. The man himself was stood by his window, gaze on the Forbidden Forest, but his mind apparently a million miles away.

"Professor?"

Lupin startled, turned, and relaxed upon sight of the Gryffindor. "Harry, you surprised me."

Harry arched a bemused eyebrow, and replied, "You wanted to see me after classes."

Lupin nodded, mildly dazed, and shuffled towards his desk. "I remember. Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea?"

Harry accepted the offer with a murmured, 'thank you', sipped it quietly, and watched silently as Lupin seemed to think over what he wanted to say. Harry didn't know his Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor well, but the man had an expressive face, and he was clearly troubled.

"I'm concerned," Lupin began, "Fenrir Greyback is a very dangerous adversary, and I'm uncertain of your ability to defend yourself against him. I wanted to help prepare you for any possible encounter you may have with him." He offered Harry a wry smile. "You and I both know that the protections around Hogwarts aren't infallible, after all."

That was rather unexpected. It was humbling, certainly, because if Lupin taught Harry the lesser known vulnerabilities of Fenrir Greyback, he would also offer up his own. Did he realise that? And if so, why? How could he trust a student he barely knew with that kind of information?

With that in mind, Harry was very aware that it was an opportunity he couldn't refuse. He didn't have any desire to hunt down every werewolf in existence, but neither did he want to become one, and if Lupin could help prevent that, Harry would be an idiot to turn it down. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all.

**Author's Note:** JK Rowling is destroying my head canon. Cry. On another note, in Beatle the Bard (probably spelt that wrong - my bad), there was a story about a wizard and his hopping pot. Or something. In Pottermore (via Wikipedia), one of Harry's ancestors with a name I can't remember was a potions maker (master?) who used to sell his wares in Godric's Hollow, though no one knew they were potions. Coincidence? I think not.

Anyway, thanks for all of your support, readers and reviewers. You guys and gals make my day. Until next time, -t.


	32. Chapter 32

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 32: march 26th**

"Remember, mate, better catch the snitch."

"At the very least, you'd better die trying."

"Not literally though. I think the old battle-axe wouldn't be pleased by that. Right, Gred?"

"Absolutely, Forge. Though, Oliver might have a fit if you don't. Catch the snitch, that is."

"He'll probably die if you _did_ die trying. It's almost romantic."

Harry laced up his gloves, eyed Fred and George briefly, and determined, "There's something wrong with you both."

"Why, thank you, Harrykins," Fred said, "That has to be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to us."

"Truly," George contributed.

At the same time, Oliver was done with his pacing, and with his obsessive scrutiny of their game plan, and was presently struggling to lace up his gloves. Harry attributed it to the older boys' nerves, because Harry had lost track of the number of times he'd seen Oliver manage the task in the last few years.

"Merlin, you'd think it was the Quidditch World Cup," Angelina observed.

"Tell me about it," Alicia agreed, "Oi, Kit, go help Wood with his gloves."

Katie tied the end of her braid, quickly knotted Oliver's laces, and settled beside Harry on the bench that occupied the centre of the Gryffindor locker room. The others huddled around the pair, Oliver clapped his hands together, and then proceeded with the same pre-game speech they'd all come to expect from him.

"He needs some original material," Katie remarked.

"He needs to calm the hell down, that's what he needs," Harry answered.

"Apparently there are scouts here."

"That'll do it," Harry acknowledged, "Never seen him so nervous."

"I can't imagine loving quidditch so much."

Harry was inclined to agree, but before he could say as much, they'd reached Madam Hooch and the Slytherins, and custom dictated he stare down his counterpart while the captains squared off.

Malfoy, naturally, took advantage of the opportunity to glare at Harry for all he was worth.

Again, the depth of loathing was concerning.

"I want a nice, clean game," Madam Hooch insisted,though the request - order? - was futile. She sent the snitch and bludgers into the air, they each mounted their brooms, and with a blow of her whistle, the quaffle was sent into the air, and the game had begun.

In between scans for the snitch, Harry occupied himself with intercepts and faints. Marcus Flint, consequently, was an angry, apoplectic mess, and the Gryffindor team was in the lead, 110 points to 20. Unfortunately, Crabbe and Goyle, despite their brutish appearance, were each a dab hand at beating, and Harry soon found himself having to evade the bludgers they regularly sent his way.

Blessedly, Harry caught the snitch before he could get hurt, and the game ended 250 to 50. Oliver was exultant, and Gryffindor house as a collective entity was triumphant, but before Harry could get drawn into the celebrations, he was surprised by the approach of his godfather.

Sirius was in the company of Professor Lupin, dressed finely in expensive robes. According to the awkward, stilted letters they'd exchanged since Yule, he'd spent a great deal of his time recovering from Azkaban, and although Harry was fairly certain that Sirius still had a long way to go, the improvement in his health was obvious.

"Hi," Harry greeted, "You look well."

"Thanks," Sirius answered, "That was an excellent game. You're quite talented."

"Thanks," Harry echoed, cast his gaze around in search of something to talk about, and found nothing. "I didn't know people could come watch the games."

"Invite only," Lupin explained, "Professor McGonagall and I thought Sirius would appreciate the opportunity to watch you play."

"Right," Harry acknowledged, and queried, "So how are things? How's Great Aunt Cassiopeia?"

"Things are alright, and Cassiopeia's well. We've spent the last couple of months getting my old house up to scratch. I thought about just knocking it down and building it from the bottom up, but Cass wouldn't hear any of that. Said there's too much history in that house. I told her that was the point, but what do you know? The old hag's a persistent nag."

Harry chuckled, and Lupin made a quiet retreat. As he did, Sirius swallowed hard, tensed his shoulders, and addressed Harry again.

"I wanted to ask you: are you happy living with your relatives? If not, I'm happy to transfer your guardianship over to me. I didn't want to assume, however…"

Harry brightened considerably. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," Sirius confirmed, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, "Does that mean I should have my lawyer write up that paperwork?"

Harry grinned, nodded emphatically, and on impulse, he hugged the man. Sirius returned it with a laugh, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and began a meandering walk towards the castle. harry fell into step beside him, his broom perched on his shoulder, and together, they chatted idly about inconsequential things until they reached the front doors.

"I want you to have this," Sirius said, and offered him a golden medallion. On one face, Harry recognised his family's coat of arms, and on the other, he recognised the House of Black's. "It's a port key. It won't work on Hogwarts grounds, but if you're off campus, and you feel your wellbeing is compromised, it will take you to any Black or Potter property you desire. You simply have to say the property name."

"What about the Black family wards?"

"Already sorted," Sirius assured, "I've not simply been twiddling my thumbs for the last three months."

"I gathered," Harry acknowledged dryly, slipped the token over his head, and tucked it beneath his Gryffindor jersey. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"No problem. There are a few other things I want to give you - they belonged to your dad, mostly - but I actually have to find them first. It might take a while."

"You don't have to do that, you know?" Harry queried.

Sirius waved him off. "It's the least I can do, and moreover, they'd probably come in useful. I mean, James, Remus and I used them to cause mischief, but you seem to attract trouble just by breathing, and they'd be able to help you out in a pinch."

"I resent that," Harry grumbled lightly, and Sirius' grin was all teeth.

"Do you deny it?"

He sighed miserably. "I guess not."

They reached Professor McGonagall's office then, and neither made any move to linger over goodbyes. Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder, promised to see him at the end of term, and retreated into the floo network's emerald flames. Harry watched him go, bade his Head of House a good afternoon, and returned to Gryffindor Tower.

-!- -#-

**Author's note:** Hello. A short chapter, but it also happens to be a filler. Not many chapters left…

Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for your support. Until next time, -t.


	33. Chapter 33

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 33: April 1st - 2nd **

In Gryffindor Tower, the close of Hogwarts' spring term was welcomed with a party. It coincided with Fred and George's 16th birthday, and in typical Fred and George style, they intended to celebrate it with a bang. Thus, prohibited beverages were appropriated, junk food was purchased in bulk, and music was played. Essentially, a good time was had, to be inevitably regretted the next morning.

Before then, however, Harry enjoyed the butter beer, the good food, and the good company.

"I swear, Gryffindor Tower has more parties than the rest of the houses combined," Fay Dunbar declared, though there was a smile on her face, and Harry didn't think she minded much.

"Are you complaining?" Seamus asked, sprawled gracelessly across one of the couches, a giggly Lavender tucked into his side. She'd taken the opportunity to give fire whisky a go, and it seemed to have hit her all at once.

"I guess not," Fay conceded, sipped at her butter beer, and scanned the room over her bottle. Slumped into an armchair across from her, Harry watched his fellow third year briefly, followed her gaze, and wondered what she saw.

Ron, unsurprisingly, loitered by the food, though he wasn't the only one. Dean and Parvati were there too, all three passionately arguing something if all the arm flailing and expressive faces were anything to go by. Hermione was tucked into a corner, her head in a book, and Harry frowned to himself. They'd grown distant over the course of the year, and although Harry knew he was largely to blame, he was somewhat disappointed by the fact that Hermione hadn't taken the opportunity to make some new friends.

In hindsight, the way the three of them - Ron, Hermione, and himself - had orbited their lives around each other was unhealthy, and somewhat pathetic. He and Ron had broken from the pattern though, had made their own friends and developed their own interests beyond nosing into other peoples' business, but it seemed Hermione hadn't done the same.

Not really.

"You should go talk to her," Fay observed.

Harry frowned, and queried, "Why?"

Fay shrugged. "She's lonely. Most of the time these days, she hides herself away in her books, and when she's not doing that, she's elbows deep in homework, or crying into her pillow."

"That's…"

"Yeah," Fay agreed, "But as I said, you should talk to her. I think she'd appreciate it to know that you haven't forgotten her."

"I didn't-"

"I know," Fay interjected, "I know that. You know that. Most everyone else knows that. But you're the first friend hermione's ever had, and she doesn't know how to deal with the fact that not all friendships last forever."

Harry sighed, but conceded the point with a nod. He finished the last of his butter beer, made a detour to retrieve a couple more for himself and hermione, and approached the girl where she sat by candlelight. In the orange glow, she looked drawn and weary, and not for the first time, Harry wondered how on Earth she was attending all five electives.

Or four, now, he supposed.

And hadn't _that_ been a surprise? He'd not believed it when he'd first heard, but word that Hermione had stormed out - and dropped out - of Divination had been confirmed by Ron, and Harry was inclined to believe the taller boy.

He had no reason to lie, anyway, and given that Hermione hadn't denied the stories, the silence was telling.

Two years ago, Hermione Granger had fits at the very thought of losing points, never mind anything else. She'd come a long way since then, but like the rest of them, she had a long way to go. Harry would have never thought she'd drop out of a class, however.

He supposed they would all change, eventually.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry greeted, dropped onto the couch beside her, and offered her a bottle, "What are you reading?"

She glanced up from the textbook, silently accepted the proffered drink, and uncapped it with a spell. He blinked, bemused by the sight, and wondered if he, too, had become so dependent on magic.

"It's one of the reference texts I used in my Ancient Runes assignment," she answered, "It seemed interesting."

He studied the tome, as wide as his palm, and smiled wryly. "Just some light reading, then?"

She shrugged, sipped her beverage, and replied, "I guess so. What can I do for you, Harry?"

"Nothing," he answered, "I just figured you'd like the company. Do you mind?"

Hermione shrugged again, cast her gaze over the chaotic common room, and closed the text in her lap. She crossed her arms over her stomach, studied Harry through the corner of her eye, and then proceeded to change the subject.

"You've got a lot of friends, you know?"

Harry considered that for a moment, and then shrugged his concession. "I guess I do."

"How do you do it?"

Harry frowned, mildly puzzled. "Do what?"

"Make friends," she answered, and the impatient roll of her eyes wasn't a surprise. He'd lost count of how many times he'd been on the receiving end of the gesture, though it was a lot more intolerable these days. This time, he curbed the reflex to call her out on it. He likely wouldn't in future.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess we find common interests. It's not… there isn't a method you can follow, Hermione. Sometimes there are terrifying circumstances - like the troll, you know? - other times, you find common interests, or you have the same goal and it just happens. I can't tell you _how_ I make friends, because I don't know myself. It just happens, I guess."

Hermione seemed to slump further into herself, and wiped at eyes that welled with tears. Harry watched, mildly horrified, and tentatively slung an arm over her shoulders.

"It's okay to make new friends, Hermione," Harry said quietly, "People _want_ to be friends with you, you know? You just have to let them."

Hermione offered him a feeble smile. "I'll try."

-!- -#-

The following day, the greater majority of first through fourth years headed home for the break,, though neither Harry, Theo, Neville, nor Susan were among them. Instead, the four of them were stretched out on the lawns, and begrudgingly occupied with holiday homework.

That was, of course, until Theo spoke.

"It's a full moon tonight."

It took a full moment for Harry to register the Slytherin's words, but when he did, he cursed, dropped his quill on the grass, and completely forgot about the Potions problems he was supposed to be solving. Beside him, Neville was similarly horrified.

"Are you joking?"

Theo's answer was grim. "I wish I was."

"Why does that matter?" Susan queried.

Harry frowned, shared a glance with Neville and Theo, and with a concise nod, relayed the details of their current plight to their Hufflepuff friend. She listened, wide eyed, and exhaled shakily when the telling was done.

"Merlin, there's never a dull moment with you, Harry."

"I wish there was," Harry answered bleakly, carded a hand through his hair, and compulsively checked for the daggers he never left his dorm without. Theo, no doubt, had silver knives up to his ears, and Harry wouldn't put it past Neville to be carrying a blade or two, as well.

It never hurt to be prepared, after all.

"What are we going to do?" Susan queried. "If he's here-"

"He's definitely here," Theo interjected, "Lupin's been on edge all week. If there isn't another alpha werewolf in his territory, then my eyes aren't brown."

"Couldn't that just be because of the full moon, though?"

"Not to this extent," Theo refuted.

Neville swallowed hard. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm kind of concerned that he'll enter the school."

The thought hadn't even occurred to Harry, and if Theo's expression was anything to go by, it hadn't occurred to him, either.

Susan breathed in and out deeply, firmed her resolve, and determined, "Then we simply have to give him a reason _not_ to."


	34. Chapter 34

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 34:** _April 2nd _

They actually had a plan. It was reckless, and foolhardy, and probably had more holes in it than Swiss cheese, but it was better than nothing, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

It was also something of a last resort. Susan, interestingly, had been ready and rearing to charge in, head first, wands blazing, and Theo was right behind her. it had taken Neville and Harry a solid half hour to convince them to approach alternative solutions before they did anything drastic.

Harry could have choked on the irony.

Nevertheless, their first step had been to inform the teachers of their concerns. Lupin was out of the question, simply because he'd be indisposed for the night. Snape, too, wasn't an option. Dumbledore, it turned out, was at a meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. It left Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick available, and opinions were divided.

McGonagall had been left in charge of the school during Dumbledore's absence, but Harry couldn't forget the last time he'd gone to her with his concerns. He was more inclined to approach Flitwick, as was Theo, but Neville and Susan were of the opinion Sprout was a better option, if not the Deputy Headmistress.

"Why don't we just tell them all?" Theo asked gruffly, his hands stained by the grass beneath his palms.

The other three looked between themselves uncomfortably, and despite himself, Harry laughed. It hadn't occurred to any of them, and the oversight was ridiculous.

"Sounds like a plan," Susan acknowledged, a humoured grin on her own face, and the two Gryffindors nodded their agreement. "I guess Neville and I will tell Professor Sprout."

"Theo and I will tell Professor Flitwick, then," Harry determined, "And at least _one_ of them will tell McGonagall. Hopefully."

Once they'd made arrangements to meet up in the library when they'd finished up with Flitwick and Sprout, respectively, the quartet returned to the castle, and proceeded with their search. Professor Flitwick, fortunately, was in his office, and once bade entry, Harry and Theo slowly shuffled inside.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted, "Are you busy?"

"I'm never too busy for my students," Flitwick answered cheerfully. Not for the first time, Harry marvelled over the fact that this was the same man whom, regularly, kicked Harry's arse six ways to Sunday. "Take a seat. What can I do for you both?"

Theo and Harry each settled in two of the chairs available, and the head of Ravenclaw offered them both his undivided attention. Harry and Theo looked between themselves, and with a reluctant sigh, Harry took the lead.

"Professor, tonight's a full moon. We're concerned that Greyback will break into the castle."

Neither felt it necessary to add the fact that curfew had been lifted, and inevitably, students would be wandering. The fact was a given, and Professor Flitwick wasn't obtuse.

"And you believe Fenrir Greyback is already on the grounds?"

"Yes, Professor," Theo answered, "I've spent years learning all I could about werewolves. Professor Lupin's been agitated all week. To a certain extent, one could attribute it to the approach of the full moon, but I've studied his behaviour since September. He's more tense than usual."

"That's quite astute of you, Mr Nott," Professor Flitwick commended, and exhaled wearily, "There is very little I can do to ease your concerns. I will, however, bring this matter up with Professor McGonagall, and I will, also, urge my colleagues to be particularly vigilant this evening. Otherwise, every measure available to us has been used to protect Hogwarts from Fenrir Greyback, and there is very little else I can do."

Both teens nodded their understanding and left Professor Flitwick to his own devices, and slowly, they trudged their way towards the library. The walk was spent in silence, lost in their respective thoughts, and Harry sighed to himself, not at all comforted by Professor Flitwick's words.

Sometimes, 'everything' was simply not enough.

-!- -#-

Upon sight of Neville and Susan, Harry knew things with Sprout hadn't gone well. Neville wore an uncharacteristic frown on his face, his head bowed in thought, and his arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, Susan appeared lost, as though all of her perceptions of the world had been irrevocably alterred, and Harry exhaled through his nose, unsure of what to say.

When an authority figure let a person down like that, it was disappointing and disillusioning all at once. Harry had never had much faith in authority figures to begin with, however, and the blow - courtesy of Professor McGonagall - hadn't hit him as hard as it had Ron and Hermione, and as of the last hour, Neville and Susan.

"How did it go?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. "He listened, but he said there wasn't much he could do that's not already been done."

"More than we can say for Sprout," Neville answered bitterly.

He and Theo dropped into seats across from Neville and Susan, and for a few moments, they sat in silence. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given her response from earlier, it was Susan who broke it.

"We need a plan."

-!- -#-

That was what had brought him here, seated on the front steps of the castle, the sky stained orange and Susan by his side. Neville and Theo were there too, the latter hovering on his broom, predictably silent, and unable to take his eyes off of the tree line. Neville, in contrast, was slumped against one of the stone pillars that bordered the front doors, a silver knife in hand, and a battered broom by his side.

Neville wasn't the strongest flyer, but he was prepared to do his part. He didn't have to, because Greyback probably didn't know him from Adam, but Neville was loyal, and Harry was grateful.

He wasn't sure how he'd made such extraordinary friends - Ron and Hermione included - but he wasn't sure he'd ever appreciated them as he should.

Now, however, wasn't the time to get sentimental. Thus, he occupied himself with other things on his mind, and he addressed Susan. "Why are you so determined to confront Greyback?"

Susan exhaled heavily, propped her chin in her raised palm, and studied the horizon. Harry wondered if she'd even answer, but she straightened up from her slouch, nodded her head determinedly, and answered, "I have a couple of reasons. The first is because he was one of the monsters that killed most of my family, and I promised myself a long time ago that I'd avenge them all. Mostly though, it's because my Aunt Amelia is an auror, and she always taught me to do the right thing, no matter what it takes."

Susan had never appeared more fierce, and Harry was quietly awed. He nodded though, and they said nothing further regarding the matter, and instead sat in a tense, expectant silence.

It was broken by Theo. "It's almost moonrise."

"And you should be inside."

They started in surprise, and Theo nearly toppled off his broom, but all four settled upon sight of their Defence Professor. His walk was rather stilted, and he appeared more drawn than Harry could recall seeing, but what was most disconcerting were the golden, lupine eyes that stared at them from their kind teacher's face.

Next to him, a massive black canine stood patiently, gaze on Harry, and the teen knew, without prompting, that Padfoot had decided to accompany Moony that night..

"He's out there, Professor," Susan answered, "We can't risk him entering Hogwarts."

"I'm aware," Lupin replied, "And that is admirable. But this is not your fight. It is our responsibility - as your teachers - to guarantee your safety, and we can't do that when you knowingly walk head-first into danger."

"What will you do, Professor?" Theo enquired. Harry noted, absently, that he offered no concession to Lupin's words, and he smiled wryly. Slytherins.

Lupin's grin was startlingly feral. "I have a school to protect, and an old score to settle."

He walked ahead then - towards the Forbidden Forest - with Sirius by his side. Harry watched them go, his broom gripped in one hand, one of his daggers in another. The plan had just become a lot more complicated, and the issue a lot more personal.

Neville said what was on all of their minds. "I did not see that coming."

**Author's Note:** Okay, I promise, next chapter is the confrontation with Fenrir. Thanks for all of your support. Until next time, -t.


	35. Chapter 35

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 35:** **April 2nd **

The addition of Lupin and Sirius required a change in their plans, though it was fairly minor. Originally, Neville and Susan would have remain by the doors, on their own brooms, and prepared to fend off Greyback with a small horde of silver knives and family spells. In the meantime, Harry and Theo had planned to seek Greyback out on their brooms, certain he wouldn't be able to pass up the opportunity their presence presented.

Instead, Lupin and Sirius had gone on the offensive, as it were, and although it made things mildly easier with regards to keeping Greyback away from the castle, it also added an element of emotional involvement, too. Harry wanted to go after them, to watch over them and ensure they were okay, though he knew, realistically, that he would only distract them both.

Thus, the quartet opted to become the last line of defence, so to speak, and as the last dregs of daylight disappeared beyond the western horizon, Harry mounted his broom, felt for his wand and daggers, and prepared to wait out the night. At the same time, two different howls wrenched the air, succeeded by a deep, resounding silence.

"I hate waiting," Susan muttered, kicked off into the air, and withdrew her wand to cast a spell over her eyes. Upon sight of their expressions, she flashed them a grin. "A night vision spell. Auror level. I learned it over the summer hols."

"Care to share with the class?" Theo joined her in the air, and shortly thereafter, Harry and Neville followed suit.

"Maybe later," she answered. Before they could protest, however, she proceeded to cast the spell over their own eyes, too. "It should last the night, but if it doesn't, let me know."

Once he'd thanked her, Harry cast his gaze back to the Forbidden Forest, and marvelled. It was difficult to believe he could see so well in the dark. The proof was in front of him, however, lit up in shades of green, but clear all the same.

No wonder it wasn't common knowledge. If criminals got their hands on it, they'd have a field day.

Or night, as it were. Before long, however, the novelty of night vision wore off, and Harry grew restless. Like Susan, he hated waiting, and thus, it only took him about an hour to decide to fly over the trees.

Maybe he'd be able to catch sight of the two werewolves. Who knew? Maybe Lupin and Sirius could use his help.

He rolled his eyes, and carded a hand through his hair. He wasn't kidding anyone, least of all himself, and harry just wanted this entire mess to be over. He was tired of worrying, and wondering, and having to constantly look over his shoulder.

He wasn't the only one.

"I'm coming with you," Theo declared.

Harry was unsurprised. He was pretty sure Theo wanted Greyback dead, and although Harry couldn't care less which way Greyback left Hogwarts grounds,, he also wished Theo would stay by the castle, and thus out of the werewolf's reach. He couldn't protest, however - not when it was as much Theo's fight as it was Lupin's - and definitely not when it wasn't his place to decide what his friends could or couldn't do.

That said, he was inwardly skeptical about Theo's ability to kill the werewolf. He had the skills, certainly, and a wizard's wand was a weapon all on it's own, but to take a life? It was an entirely different matter. He still had nightmares of the way it felt when Quarrel literally disintegrated beneath his hands, and that had been self-defence, and entirely unintentional besides.

To actively seek someone out, and to knowingly, intentionally kill a person? Harry couldn't do that, and he wasn't sure Theo could, either.

"Thank Merlin," Susan exclaimed, "I'm coming too."

harry rolled his eyes, and glanced expectantly at Neville. His friend stared back, defiant. Obviously, he wasn't about to be left behind.

"Let's go, then."

Harry led the way, and his friends followed closely behind. He had no idea where he was going though, beyond the basic understanding that Greyback would remain close to the tree line. Moreover, if a fight was being had, it would be in a clearing to allow for space and range of motion, but that didn't give Harry many answers. Despite his various misadventures within the Forbidden Forest, he wasn't at all familiar with the woods' layout, and thus, he was more or less flying blind.

"What will we do when we get there?" Susan queried.

"Stay in the canopy," Theo answered, "Observe, and plan accordingly."

The silence between them that followed was tense - anticipatory, even - and Harry impatiently drummed his fingers along the handle of his broom. As he did so, his gaze searched the canopy for a break in the trees, and eventually, he found it near the far end of the Hogwarts grounds. There, a pair of wolves were locked in a violent tableau, oblivious to their surroundings, and to the black dog that observed them from the tree line.

Neville studied the werewolves below, and dryly asked what Harry wasn't willing to. "Which one's Greyback?"

It was difficult to determine colours through the night vision spell, and there wasn't much of a difference between the wolves besides. They were startlingly tall in the shoulders, with short, pug-like snouts and tufted tails. They were vicious though, snarling and growling, and clawing at each other with reckless abandon. All the while, Padfoot watched, tensed, and ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

"I've seen pictures of Greyback," Susan muttered, and began a slow descent below the canopy, "If I can just get closer…"

"Are you mad?" Neville demanded, and intercepted her path. Harry and Theo trailed behind the Hufflepuff, their wary eyes on the bloodied werewolves below. Padfoot had become aware of them, though at first glance, it seemed the werewolves had not. Their fight had raised in intensity, however, and Harry knew better.

"Susan, don't be an idiot," Harry reprimanded. Meanwhile, Neville was angry, and the Hufflepuff was preoccupied. Harry's eyes were on his friend, and it was thus that he barely managed to witness what happened next.

One of the wolves lunged for Susan. The second missed the intercept by a hair's width. Padfoot, who'd watched Susan's descent, and the wolves as well, lunged, and clashed with the attacking werewolf.

At the same time, Susan reeled in response to the offence, lost her grip on her broom, and fell to the ground beneath them. Harry watched her fall, horrified, but he was too far, and the ground too close, to catch her.

Susan landed with an ominous 'crack', and with a cry of pain that was drowned out by the growls and snarls of the two wolves and one dog several feet away. She was alright though, in pain and terrified, but blessedly conscious. He was irked by the complete disregard of her own wellbeing, but Harry didn't fault her for being afraid. He was scared, too.

"Bugger. Watch my back," Theo told Harry and Neville. He lowered himself to the forest floor, stood beside Susan's crumpled form, and spoke with her briefly.

While Neville watched over them, Harry dropped to her other side, and took a moment to study the Hufflepuff for injuries. She'd broken her wrist, and the fractured bone had broken skin, but Harry knew no healing spells, and even if he did, there was no time to tend to her injury. Instead, he turned back to the wolves, and watched as Greyback slashed a claw across Sirius' flank.

He winced as the dog whined, convulsively gripped his wand, and tried to think of any spell he knew that could help. He couldn't throw knives - not like Theo could, and to a lesser extent, Neville and Susan - but unfortunately, werwolf hide was particularly resistant to magic, and Harry wasn't proficient enough with Transfiguration to manipulate his surroundings.

He was familiar with elemental charms, however, but as a plan began to form in his mind, the situation changed.

Behind Theo, Greyback managed to separate himself from Moony and Padfoot's combined attack, and braced himself for another lunge towards the prone students.

Harry blanched, and his heart rate, already rapid due to his proximity to Greyback, spiked. He didn't have time to do much of anything defensive, so he did the only thing he could. "Theo!"

It seemed his warning was unnecessary. Harry had known his friend had plainly extraordinary reflexes, but he'd almost not seen the Slytherin move. Theo whirled, a knife pulled back, and launched it directly through Greyback's eye. The wolf dropped like a stone, the clearing fell silent, and Fenrir Greyback was dead.

**Author's Note:** Need to work on this one. I'm abysmal at action scenes, and suspense is absolutely beyond me. Practice makes perfect, right? Tell me how I can improve? Sorry for the small delay. I built this chapter up in my head, and suffice to say, it didn't meet expectations. *sigh*

It's all down hill from here. Thanks for your support. Until next time, -t.


	36. Chapter 36

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 36:** _April 3rd _

When Harry woke, it didn't take him long to determine he was in the hospital wing. It seemed he'd fallen asleep while he maintained vigil by Sirius' bedside, but sometime in his sleep, he'd been moved to a bed, his clothes had been changed, his wand and daggers deposited on his bedside table.

Professor Lupin was passed out on a bed across from him, and Theo was still under the effects of the dreamless sleep, but several beds down, Susan and Neville were awake, in quiet conversation over their respective breakfast trays. Susan, like Theo, had slept under the effects of a dreamless sleeping draught, but in the light of day, she still seemed weary, and impossibly small.

Harry joined his friends, seated criss-cross by Susan's feet, and picked mindlessly at their sliced fruits while they discussed a Herbology assignment Harry hadn't even thought about, never mind started.

"So…" Neville trailed off into a vaguely awkward silence, and Susan picked at the bacon she'd not eaten.

"Some night, huh?" Her smile was wry.

He shrugged. "It could have been worse. No one was bitten, Greyback is dead, and everyone will recover. I don't think it could have turned out better, actually."

"Except, of course, if the defences had done their bloody job," Neville answered, and the scathing in his tone was startling, albeit justified.

Harry shrugged. He'd come to expect the occasional bout of mortal peril at Hogwarts, and although that alone was concerning, he wasn't sure if he had the power to change the status quo. Once again, however, the protections around Hogwarts had failed them, and this time, Harry's life wasn't the only one at stake.

"It wasn't what I expected," Susan admitted.

"Were you expecting a grande adventure?" Harry's tone was biting, but the irritation left as quick as it had come, and he slumped, tired. Across from him, Susan did, too.

"I suppose I was," she conceded, and her expression was sad, "I'm sorry, Harry. I let you and Theo down. I won't… it won't happen again."

Before he could answer, Madam Pomfry shuffled in with a breakfast tray in hand. She deposited it in his lap, eyed him sternly, and instructed him to 'eat up'. Harry didn't protest, and he instead dug in heartily, famished. She left him to it, and Harry watched as she approached Sirius, wand raised and a diagnostic spell on her tongue.

"How is he, madam Pomfry?"

"It's not the worst injury I've seen from him, Mr Potter. The slice was rather deep, and I'm sure his side will be rather tender for the days to come, but your godfather will make a full recovery. I can guarantee it."

"That's good," Harry acknowledged, and the weight on his shoulders eased, "And Professor Lupin?"

"With some rest, he will be well."

The mediwitch retreated to her office, and Harry focused on his breakfast. As he did, he reflected on the events from the evening prior, and sighed to himself. Although Greyback was dead, the monstrous werewolf was still wreaking havoc on he and Theo's lives. The latter's mostly, since after the shock had worn off, Theo had vomited into the grass, had collapsed by Susan, and had proceeded to babble incoherently - and simultaneously - about how it was finally over, and that he couldn't believe he'd actually killed the monster that had shadowed most of his life.

At the same time, Sirius had transformed to his human self, and between a roughshod transfiguration of the corpse into something considerably easier to hide, and the occasional glance at Moony to ensure the wolfsbane potion was still under effect, he took the opportunity to lecture Susan, Harry, Theo and Neville on the topic of recklessness and absolute imbecility, accompanied by a guilt trip of epic proportions.

The fact that he was bleeding from a gaping wound in his side kept them from protesting, but Harry was fairly certain he wasn't the only one who'd rankled under the chastisement. With regards to Neville, Susan and Theo, Sirius wasn't their parent or guardian, and neither was he a teacher. In Harry's case, Sirius was a stranger, and legal guardian or not, Harry wasn't particularly fond of authority figures.

But then Sirius had staggered from blood loss, and the group - excepting Susan - was suddenly occupied with ensuring he made it to the hospital wing. Moony loped off into the trees with a transfigured bone between his teeth, and meanwhile, the third years had somehow managed to manoeuvre Sirius onto a broom. Harry, as the strongest flyer, was designated pilot, and before midnight, they'd made it to the hospital wing, Sirius was deposited into Madam Pomfry's care, and the quartet of Hogwarts students could finally settle down to absorb the events of the hours passed.

Susan had cried, and Theo had shed a few tears, too. In contrast, Neville was stoic in a way Harry had come to expect from his friend. The other Gryffindor was more comfortable when he had the opportunity to internally sort through his feelings, and Harry couldn't begrudge him that. More recently, Harry was prone to the same routine, and thus, while he'd watched over Sirius, and to a lesser extent, Susan and Theo, he reflected on the actions made and the resulting consequences, meditated over them, and sometime in the dark before dawn, he finally accepted that there was nothing he could change.

He pulled himself from his reverie, and studied his Hufflepuff friend. She'd been particularly reckless the night before, but Harry was fairly certain she'd learned from the experience. More to the point, his history guaranteed that he wasn't particularly inclined to give a lecture. Instead, he asked, "How's your arm?"

"Good as new," she replied, "It mended overnight. There isn't even a scar."

"And how are you?"

Susan took a few moments to contemplate her answer. "I feel hollow, I guess. He's dead, and I thought I'd be satisfied with that, but I'm just… not."

Harry squeezed her blanket coloured feet, and said sagely, "It doesn't bring back your family."

Next to him, Neville nodded his agreement.

She slumped, wiped at eyes that welled with tears, and replied, "I don't know what I expected."

"I don't have answers for you, Susan. I'm sorry."

She offered him a feeble smile. "It's enough that you understand. You too, Neville. Thank you for that."

"Any time, Sue," Neville acknowledged, and this time, it was Harry who nodded his agreement.

-!- -#-

Some time later, they were joined by Theo. The Slytherin was predictably quiet, but there was a shadow in his expression Harry hadn't seen before. It seemed Greyback's death weighed heavy on his mind, and Harry wished he had the right words to say.

He didn't.

Susan offered him her replenished bowl of fruit. "Strawberry?"

Theo accepted one with a nod of thanks, eyed the game of poker they'd been playing, and queried, "Can I join in?"

"Yeah, mate," Neville answered, "I'll deal you in the next round. We're playing for chocolates."

They played until mid-morning, at which point Madam Pomfry sent them on their way. Harry opted to return to his dormitory, and there, he was met by Athena. She was asleep against his pillow, though that was nothing new. She slept a lot these days, and Harry had a feeling she was on her last legs.

Despite the short amount of time he'd spent with her, the thought saddened him. He wasn't sure if it was because of Athena herself, or because she was a link to the family he'd not had the opportunity to know. Either way, he was fairly certain he wasn't ready to let her - and what she represented - go.

He wasn't certain he ever would be.

**Author's Note:** I love you guys and gals. That's all I wanted to say. Thanks for your support. Until next time, -t.


	37. Chapter 37

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 37: The Headmaster's Office**

11th April

It was the first day of classes after the mid-semester break, and Harry was tense. Dumbledore had arrived back from his ICW duties the night before, and Harry had been expecting a summons to the man's office ever since. It seemed meetings with him were par for the course at the end of Harry's annual adventures, and he couldn't fathom why on Earth this year's would be any different.

At the same time, Harry was ecstatic. That morning, he'd received a letter from Sirius. The man had been successful with regards to his acquisition of Harry's custody, and thus, Harry was now his godfather's ward.

Although he'd never intended to, it was a relief to know that, legally, he would never again have to step foot on Privet Drive. Moreover, he now had the opportunity to have a family, and despite the fact it wasn't at all the conventional sort, it was more than Harry had previously. He had no idea what a family would be like, in reality, but Harry was optimistic, and eager to find out..

"Did you finish your Potions essay?" Ron asked.

"I half-arsed it," Harry answered, "Does that count?"

It was the only subject that Harry was getting below an 'E' in. He only offered the minimal amount of effort to pass, because Snape wouldn't have appreciated it if Harry intentionally tried, and Harry had given up on trying to please those who didn't give a damn about him. It freed up more time for his other subjects, but as May drew nearer, that didn't say much.

"Better than me," Seamus answered, "Not even written a paragraph yet."

"Good luck with that," Harry answered, and didn't bother to mention that it was due the next morning. Hermione had already mentioned it - frequently - over lunch, and it didn't bear repeating.

"I'll bloody need it, won't I?" Seamus offered the rest of them a rueful grin, dropped into the chair at his study desk, and withdrew his Potions things with a reluctant sigh.

By his own bed, Dean studied his watch. "You've got 16 hours until breakfast tomorrow morning. Have fun, mates.

Seamus laughed, and offered Dean the finger. "Bugger off, wanker."

"

Harry followed Dean out of the dormitory, entered the common room, and joined Neville at a seat by one of the tower's windows. He was occupied with a Herbology magazine, but as Dean and Harry sat, he put it away, offered them a grin, and asked about Dean's week away.

As Dean spoke, Harry was approached by Colin Creevey. The second year was predictably starstruck, and Harry was predictably uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he accepted the missive Colin offered him with a quiet murmur of gratitude, unfurled the scroll, and read it quickly.

"Everything alright?" Dean queried.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed, and addressed Neville, "We're expected at the headmaster's office after supper."

Neville appeared unsurprised. "Do you know if the others are, too?"

"I'd assume as much," Harry reasoned. "No use wondering though. We'll see soon enough."

"What did you do?" Dean asked, incredulous, "We were only gone a week."

"It doesn't matter," Harry replied, "At least, it's not something worth worrying about."

In truth, Harry didn't actually want to say. They'd successfully managed to keep the entire debacle quiet, and he didn't want to deal with the attention it would garner if the student body were to find out. Theo, of course, would bear the brunt of it, but if Harry could avoid _any_ attention, then he would do it without regrets.

He wondered if it was selfish of him.

-!- -#-

Dumbledore's office hadn't changed in two months, and Harry hadn't expected it to. Fawkes was stood on his perch, any number of trinkets glimmered in the candlelight, and to his left, the sword of Godric Gryffindor gleamed in it's case. It served as an unfortunate reminder of Harry's sojourn into the Chamber of Secrets, and he looked away, mildly discomforted.

It wasn't the first time he'd come close to death, but it was the first time he'd ever witnessed an innocent approach that brink, and he never wanted to again.

"You wanted to see us, Headmaster?" Susan queried. They each eyed Dumbledore, expressions expectant. Behind him, their respective heads of house - McGonagall, Sprout, and Snape - stirred from their unmoving scrutiny, and cast their gazes towards the old man, too.

"Indeed I did, Miss Bones," Dumbledore confirmed, "I wish to speak with you all concerning your actions over the semester break."

Dumbledore studied them over his half moon spectacles, and Harry received the discomforting feeling that the aged wizard could see right through them. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was expressionless in turn, and Harry wouldn't have been able to read the man if he'd tried.

He didn't.

"What did you want to say, Professor?" Neville asked. He glared at Dumbledore, defiant. As he did, Harry decided that his fellow Gryffindor was the bravest of them all. "Because I don't intend to apologise for our actions."

Susan, bolstered by Neville's courage, nodded her agreement, and belatedly, Harry and Theo followed suit.

"I don't regret what we did," Susan opined, "We were protecting our classmates because - barring Professor Lupin - no one else bothered to."

The resentment in Susan's tone was unmistakeable, and it was apparent the Hufflepuff was still stung by Professor Sprout's casual dismissal of her concerns. Behind the headmaster, Professors Sprout and McGonagall looked away in shame.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore glanced between Harry and Theo, and queried, "Do either of you have anything to say?"

Harry glanced at Theo, who shook his head, no, and then he addressed Dumbledore, "I think Neville and Susan have said everything that matters."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers in front of his face, and spent an impossibly long moment simply scrutinising them. Then he spoke, and Harry wasn't the only one to tense at his words.

"I do not condone your actions on the 2nd of April."

Outrage.

It burned through him, and indignant, burning fury that coursed through his every pore, caused his magic to thrum beneath his skin, and had his heart pounding violently in his chest.

He wasn't the only one, either.

"Not only did you knowingly endanger yourselves, but you intentionally, _needlessly_ took a man's life…"

The lecture went on, but Harry tuned it out. He instead occupied himself with trying to calm the hell down, though he wasn't particularly successful. Eventually - blessedly - Dumbledore's lecture wound down, and Harry tuned back in to hear their punishment.

"You will each be serving detention until the end of semester. Every night, after supper, with your respective head of house. You are dismissed."

They left in silence, and Harry led the way to the classroom he and Theo used to practice with their knives. Then he locked the door, cast a silencing spell at the frame, and glanced at the others.

"What the bloody hell was that?" The unbridled rage was all consuming. "Who the hell does he think he is? If we hadn't intervened, then Dumbledore would be burying his students!"

Harry paced, his hands tangled in his hair, and certain he'd punch something if he let go.

Susan, who was red faced with her own temper, had unleashed a barrage of bombardment hexes at the disused furniture, mumbling under her breath as she pulverised the aged wood into nothing more than sawdust.

"I can't believe he just did that," Neville said, he looked it, too, as though his world had just shifted off it's axis.

Upon sight of his friend, Harry slowed down, and his temper settled into sizzling embers he could feel beneath his skin.

"I thought… I thought he'd understand. We didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," Theo answered bitterly, "It's just that, in this case, the other choice was reprehensible. I don't regret that I killed Greyback. I'm sorry you're in trouble for it, but if it was him, or a student, then I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"You and me both," Susan added, and with a stony expression on her face, she determined, "You know what? Bugger what he thinks. He's clearly gone senile in his old age. We didn't do anything wrong."

The others nodded their agreement, and despite himself, Harry smiled. He, too, couldn't and wouldn't bring himself to regret their choices. They may have taken a life, but if they hadn't, many more would have been hurt, or killed, or turned. As Theo had said, that alternative was reprehensible.

He wondered if Dumbledore realised it, though he wasn't about to find out. Dumbledore had just lost any respect Harry had harboured for the man, and Harry was doubtful that he'd ever be able to redeem himself.

"Where do we go from here?" He asked. "I don't know about you, but I don't really fancy two months of detention."

"Neither," Neville answered, "And i don't know about you lot, but I'm telling my grandmother. She'll pitch a fit that Greyback was able to get on the grounds at all, never mind that only one teacher was willing to do something about it."

"I'll tell Sirius," Harry contributed.

Susan nodded thoughtfully. "I'll tell my Aunt Amelia."

"And I'll tell my grandfather," Theo concluded. "In the meantime, will we be going to the detentions?"

They glanced between themselves, and each shook their heads. The answer was a firm, resounding "No."


	38. Chapter 38

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 38:**

_3rd - 21st May_

As a result of informing their respective guardians of the events surrounding Fenrir Greyback's death, and also informing them of the resulting punishment courtesy of Dumbledore, a formal inquest was opened by the DMLE. Madame Bones, Susan's aunt, couldn't lead the investigation herself due to an unavoidable conflict of interest, but she'd appointed Aurors Owen Savage and Gawain Robards to the task.

For Harry and friends, it meant a great deal of time spent in interviews with the two decorated officers, a temporary suspension of their punishment, and a great deal of tension between them and their respective heads of house, and between them and Dumbledore as well.

Even Harry's lessons with Professor Flitwick had been effected, and Harry still couldn't decide if he was angry at the man or not. On the one hand, his hands were tied, but on the other, what had stopped him from doing what he could, anyway? Rules and regulations hadn't stopped Professor Lupin, after all.

That said, all's well that ends well, and did he really have reason to hold a grudge? Greyback was dead, the rest of them were (physically) unharmed, and the emotional trauma - what was left of it, anyway - would eventually pass. Was he, then, simply being petty?

He'd asked Neville in early May, and his friend had sighed wearily, carded a hand through his hair, and answered, "I don't know. We shouldn't have had to get involved in the first place. Maybe they need a good kick up the arse to remember that part of their jobs involves keeping us safe."

Apart from all of that, much of Harry's time was spent in preparation for the upcoming exams. He and Theo had postponed their training to better focus on their studies, and even Oliver had let up on quidditch training as most of the team faced the approach of OWL and NEWT exams.

As he left yet another interview with Savage and Robards, Harry sighed wearily, rubbed at his tired eyes, and approached the library. He'd made plans to meet with Susan before the inquest had called for his attention, and as he dropped into his usual seat with a groan, Susan glanced up at him, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Godric, if I'd known if it would take so bloody long, I'd never have bothered with protesting the detentions."

"It's injustice," Susan reminded him, "They can't get away with punishing us for doing their jobs."

He grunted, and belatedly took note of the Hufflepuff's bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks and ruddy nose. It seemed she'd been crying, and Harry suddenly had the urge to hurt someone.

"What's wrong? Do I have to punch someone? Can I fix it?"

As Susan's eyes welled with tears, Harry panicked. He had no idea what to do with waterworks, but awkwardly, he lifted himself from his seat, settled down in the one beside his friend, and tentatively draped an arm across her shoulders. "Okay, please don't cry."

Roughly, Susan wiped at her tears, and explained, "Wayne broke up with me. He said he didn't like me hanging out with you and Nev and Theo so much, and I told him I wasn't going to sacrifice my friends to make him happy. So we broke up."

"What a wanker."

She laughed wetly. "It's pretty awful, isn't it? I mean, really? Who does that? Git."

"Absolute prat," Harry agreed. He patted her back in an attempt at comfort. "I'm sure he'll live to regret that choice, Sue."

"Too right," she agreed, and seemed to firm her resolve, "I don't need him."

"Of course you don't," Harry agreed. He offered her a tentative smile. "You'll be okay."

"I know." Susan's smile was genuine. "Thanks, Harry."

He offered her a smile of his own. "What are friends for?"

Harry didn't return to his seat, and instead opted to move his things to his place beside Susan. He opened up his Transfiguration notes, and while their knees and elbows occasionally brushed, the pair focused on their respective work, the silence between them companionable.

-!- -#-

Harry was tempted to go scare the living daylights out of Wayne Hopkins, as was Theo, but fortunately, Neville had a more level head, and reasoned with them that they couldn't afford to get into more trouble with the senior staff. Thus, they instead contented themselves with the occasional glare at the unfortunate Hufflepuff, and the days drifted by.

It was a few days before his first exam when he found Athena, her breaths laboured, her eyes closed in sleep. She was on his bed, curled up by his pillow, and Harry knew, without much thought, that Athena was dying.

Upset despite himself, he scooped her up in his arms, retreated from the tower, and sought out a secluded place behind Hagrid's hut. He held her in his lap, stroked her fur, and as the sun reached it's peak in the sky, Athena took her last breath.

Harry buried her beneath the shade of a willow tree, carved her name into the oak, and returned to Gryffindor tower with his shoulders slumped. He'd not known her long, but he'd gotten attached to the old girl, and it hurt to let her go. He wasn't sure if it was because of Athena herself, or because of what she represented. The fact that he was confused at all, however, made him immeasurably guilty, and as he sat on his bed, he still had no answers.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, exiting from the bathroom the dorm shared.

Harry shrugged. "Athena died."

"I'm sorry," Ron answered. He offered Harry a sympathetic clap on his shoulder, "You'll be alright."

"I can't tell what I'm more upset about," he admitted, and upon Ron's perplexed expression, he briefly explained.

"You can be upset about them both," Ron advised. "I know it's not the same, but when we found out about Pettigrew, I was sad. I mean, I was angry, and disgusted, and I felt kind of dirty, but I was sad, too. Because he was my pet. I mean, he obviously wasn't, but I didn't know that? I mean, I guess what I'm trying to say is that you can be upset for more reasons than one, and you can feel more than one thing at once, as well."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, thanked Ron for listening, and settled back against his pillows. He thought about Athena, and about her connection to the Potters before him, and swallowed back tears he didn't want to shed. Then he retrieved his family history book, immersed himself in it's pages, and for a while, his grief faded. It wouldn't stay that way, he knew, but it was all he needed.

**Author's Note:** I've added one more scene to the last chapter. Might want to check it out if you've only read up to their dismissal from Dumbledore's office. Otherwise, seriously. 54 reviews? I'm speechless. You're all amazing. Thank you so much. One more chapter to go and then, of course, the revision. Plugging in potholes, things like that. More on the inquest, and the consequences of Greyback's death in 'Resurrection'… when I eventually get around to writing it. Anyway, until next time, guys and gals, -t.


	39. Chapter 39

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 39:** 14th - 21st June

When Harry heard that Professor Lupin had resigned, he was unsurprised. The day before, Theo had informed Harry, Susan, and Neville that Professor Snape had 'let slip' that Lupin was a werewolf, and thus, the resignation had been expected. It was no less disappointing, however, because the former Gryffindor was a remarkable teacher, and he would therefore be missed. Despite that, Harry understood. No one ever liked to be where they weren't wanted, and the disgraceful amount of prejudice heaped upon werewolves guaranteed that the howlers, the letters, and the complaints were only a matter of time.

"Professor?"

Lupin glanced up from the tomes he'd been packing, and offered Harry a tired smile. "I thought I'd be seeing you, Harry."

"I just wanted to check on you," Harry explained, "I'm sorry about Professor Snape. He's a wanker."

"I'd chastise you for your language…"

"But you're not my teacher anymore, right?" Harry answered, and shrugged. "Can't deny the truth though. He's a git."

Lupin's sigh was weary. "Severus Snape and I have never been friends. I can't say I'm surprised by his… mistake. In any case, you shouldn't apologise."

"I'm sorry you have to go, then," Harry corrected himself, "You're a good teacher. I enjoyed your class."

"I'm glad." And he genuinely looked it, too, with an earnest smile on his face and a lightness in his gaze. "It's been a pleasure to teach you."

With his piece said, Harry didn't linger. Lupin seemed eager to leave as quickly and as quietly as possible, and Harry wasn't inclined to make his departure difficult. Instead, he bade the man a good day, insisted he stay in touch, and returned to Gryffindor Tower, and to the friends awaiting him there.

"I wonder who the next one will be," Neville mused. He was stretched out across one of the couches in the common room, chin propped on his arms,eyes on the empty fireplace. "Lupin's a tough act to follow."

"I'm not holding my breath," Harry answered, closed his journal, and smiled to himself. At the beginning of the school year, he'd begun a list of spells he intended to learn and memorise, and the evening before, he'd learned the last of them. The feeling of accomplishment was rather satisfying. "That way, I won't be disappointed."

"Whatever, mate," Neville acknowledged, "What are you doing these holidays?"

Harry sighed. Cassiopeia and Sirius had outlined a lesson plan for the summer, and thus, he'd spend most of his holiday absorbed in Estate Management, Legal Studies, Government, and Economics lessons. There would also be etiquette lessons thrown in, courtesy of Cassiopeia, but otherwise, he didn't intend to do much. He probably wouldn't have the time, and although he was somewhat disappointed that he'd not be able to learn swordsmanship from Theo, the actual plans were a step up from his summer holidays previous.

"I'll be studying," he said, "You?"

Neville highlighted a planned holiday to Brazil, where he hoped to visit the Amazon Rainforest, among other things. Apparently there was a lot of tropical wildlife there that Neville had only ever dreamed of seeing for himself. It was a reward for the improvement in his grades, and Harry wished he could get a reward, too.

Then again, he supposed, the lack of Privet Drive or Dursleys was a reward in and of itself.

"Should probably stock up on insect repellent," Harry remarked.

"There's a potion," Neville explained, "Nasty stuff, but you drink a dose at breakfast, and you're bug free for the entire day."

"I think I'd prefer the muggle version," Harry answered, "At least I don't have to taste it."

"Touche," Neville conceded, sat up with a stretch, and studied his watch. "It's almost dinner."

"What are we waiting for?"

Harry packed his books away, accompanied his friend to the Great Hall, and settled across from him at the Gryffindor table. Further up, Oliver was in conference with Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, no doubt stressed about the quidditch final the following day.

Harry would freely admit that he was nervous. They were up against Ravenclaw, and although that itself wasn't particularly concerning, Harry had never played the final before, and the prospect was somewhat nauseating. He'd do his part though, would hopefully catch the snitch, but for the moment, he tried not to think about it.

As he served himself a helping of steak and potatoes, Dean and Seamus dropped into the seats beside Harry and Neville, arguing about Lupin.

"He's a werewolf," Seamus seemed to have repeated it a few times, "He could have killed us in our sleep."

"And yet he didn't," Dean reasoned, "Mate, Lupin's a nice bloke. You were just saying that he was the best teacher we've had."

"That was _before_ I knew he turned into a raving monster every month!"

"What about the thirty days out of the month in which he's _not_ a raving monster?" Harry interjected, "Are you really going to condemn a man because Fenrir Greyback attacked him when he was six years old?"

Dean eyed him, curious. "How do you know that?"

Harry shrugged. "He told me."

"You knew?" Seamus exclaimed, "And you didn't think to warn us?"

"Warn you about _what_? That he locks himself up with the wolfsbane potion every full moon? I might have, but not only was it not my secret to tell, I was afraid people would respond just like you."

Unceremoniously, Harry picked up his plate and cutlery, settled himself in a seat beside Lee Jordan, across from Fred and George, and violently cut into his steak.

"Who pissed in your pumpkin juice, mate?"

"And are we allowed to hex them?"

Despite himself, Harry smiled. He shook his head though, no, and instead they talked about other things, like the OWL exams, like the end of year party planned for the last full day of term, like their respective plans for the summer.

Eventually, Harry finished up the rest of his meal and returned to the tower, dropped into a seat near a few of the Gryffindor girls in his year, and withdrew one of his government texts to pass the time.

-!- -#-

In the morning, Harry was a nervous wreck, and the team wasn't particularly helpful. They seemed more concerned about the possibility that Harry wouldn't make it to the game, and thus, he received the bubble wrap treatment throughout breakfast, and on the way to the quidditch pitch as well.

"Cho Chang's your opposition today," Oliver informed Harry.

"Better not let her distract you," Fred opined.

"That's what she did with Diggory," George contributed.

"Stole the snitch from right beneath his nose," Fred took up the thread.

"Can't really blame the sod. She _is_ a pretty bird," George finished.

"Not really your type though, right?" Alicia appeared distinctly threatening, and George nodded like a bobblehead, pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek, and insisted she was the only woman for him.

Alicia wasn't impressed.

The game prep passed in a blur, and when the game itself began, Harry's nerves settled. Cho Chang, in fact, was a very pretty girl, but forewarned by her tactics, and unimpressed by her tendency to tail him besides, Harry managed to catch the snitch _without_ being distracted by the Ravenclaw seeker.

When he did, when the Quidditch Cup was deposited in Oliver's hands, and red and gold confetti was showered over the team, Oliver cried. The others were buoyant, Harry was too, and his smile was irrepressible.

For the moment, inquests, werewolves, studies - none of them mattered. For the moment, the end of term was around the corner, the quidditch cup had been won, and Harry felt like he'd conquered the world.

He never wanted that feeling to fade.

**End Notes:** I've never finished a Harry Potter fic before. Neither have I ever made it to a thousand reviews. I'm so happy. I'm thankful, too, for all of your support, encouragement and constructive criticism. It means more than I could ever say.

I hope you stick around for the sequel. As previously mentioned, it will be called 'Resurrection'. Here's the summary.

**Resurrection:** The Triwizard Tournament has been revived at Hogwarts, but monsters lurk in the abyss, and not all is as it seems. meanwhile, Fenrir Greyback's death has consequences, and nothing will ever be the same. GoF AU. OOC.

Before I post it, however, I want to finish with the revision/rewrite of 'Resolution'. I've got 20 odd chapters left. Isn't that daunting?

Anyway, until next time, or not. Thanks, again, for reading. -t.


	40. Sequel Notice

Hi, readers

Not sure if I'll ever get around to completing the revision I said I would, but seriously, I really don't like editing. Not the point of this A/N, however.

'Resurrection' has been posted. Check it out?

Thanks, again, for all your support. Much love, -t.


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